Whatever Became of Our Heroes?
by Col.Foley
Summary: The Champion of Kirkwall, the Hero of Ferelden, the two most important people in all of Thedas. The most hunted. Where did they go? What are they up to? This is the story of their flight from society, and their subsequent meeting, in the Tevinter Imperium.
1. Chapter 1

_Weisshaupt __Fortress_

Malcome Cousland stood on the battlements of the greatest fortress, quite possibly, in all of Thedas. The home of the Grey Wardens, the seat of power of a most powerful and independent organization, owing allegiance to no King or petty princedom yet having allegiance from all of them. It was grand, perhaps too grand. A testament to the Warden's skill and ability, but also a sign that they weren't perfect, a vision of the damage the Darkspawn could wrought to the world if they were able.

The fortress stood in the middle of a great and barren land. One of the victims of a long forgotten Blight, a permanent scar on the face of the world, the vegetation, what their once was of it, was no more than simple gnarled branches sticking up out of the ground.

He gazed across this great expanse, waiting for his audience with the Warden Commander, reflecting on the history of the order he was still surprised to be a part of.

Admittedly he knew next to nothing about the Grey Wardens before Duncan had shown up, and demanded he join them in order for him to be safe from Arl Howe's depravity in the coup attempt.

_Which then led me to becoming the Hero of Ferelden, slaying the Archdemon, and preventing the Blight almost before it started, and yet, I am still very much alive thanks to Morrigan._

"Commander," A woman's voice spoke behind him.

He turned, and saw a young woman, a _girl_ really standing there, meek, fair, and quite pale.

"Yes Warden?"

"The First Warden will see you now."

"Thank you," Malcome grimaced before following the young woman down the stairs towards the entrance to the Keep proper.

The First Warden looked up as the two of them entered the hall, an ancillary room on the side of the keep. A sturdy table dominating the center, the First Warden towering over it, staring down at the map rolled across it.

"Ah, Commander Cousland, the first Grey Warden who has ever survived the slaying of an Archdemon. I wonder if the soul of the Demon survives still and has yet to appear, only to appear one day and begin a brand new blight, but welcome to Weisshaupt."

"First Warden."

The elder man rounded the table crossing to face the younger Cousland almost chest to chest. He grunted, but now the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden could look at his boss and study him.

The man was bearded, dark gray and bristled, his skin tight, but still entirely smooth. A model of perfect health at his old age. Yet something was off about him. It was as though his physical condition, his outward appearance, only hid a roiling corruption deep beneath the surface. Malcome had to restrain the urge to physically shiver, as if he could feel the taint literally crawling through the elder Warden's skin.

"I tell you, I did not expect the Warden Commander of Ferelden would come all the way north to the Anderfells for any reason. After all your command is still brand new, and important. You are technically the Arl of Amaranthine, and the Warden Commander of the contingent at Vigil's Keep, yet there are few Wardens in the area, Ferelden is still one of our smallest outposts throughout Thedas. We need all the Wardens we can get and an experienced Commander leading the rebuilding efforts."

"I believe Nathaniel Howe can handle himself…its right, he is Arl by blood and a competent leader."

The First Warden smiled wryly at him, "Howe has taken several field trips sine you left, led an expedition into the Free Marches a few months back."

Malcome's face blanched, "oh."

"Oh indeed."

Malcolme felt a small sliver of sweat dribble down his back despite the relative cool of the office. The First Warden nodded at him and went to a side table, pouring two tumblers of a thick liquor before handing one over to Malcolme.

He took it and gunned it down in one pull, it tasted bitter, but the Warden Commander had worse and often in his home town of Highever during one of the many brewery festivals.

"And why are you here?" The First Warden asked finally getting to the heart of the matter.

"The Wardens here have access to libraries, Warden Records dating back to the First Blight. I want to look through those records."

"For what purpose?"

Malcolme couldn't help but gulp with the question, he couldn't refuse the First Warden, but he knew the answer likely wouldn't lead to a satisfactory outcome. At least to his purposes.

"I need maps of the Deep Roads…where the remaining Old Gods are being kept," He started, and as he did so he found it easier to go along with the rest of the proposal. "I want to hunt them down and kill them, or make them immune to the taint if I can, but primarily I want to prevent the next Blight before it even starts, once and for all."

The First Warden grinned at him, Malcolme was convinced he was trying to not laugh at the peculiar upstart in front of him.

"That is…quite the suggestion…but how do you propose to crawl through the legions of Darkspawn who are in your way?"

"I have my ways."

The First Warden snorted. "The Architect?"

Malcolme stiffened at the mention of his name.

"Yes, we have heard of him. Reports have reached even my ears. A Darkspawn who can talk? Should be interesting. But can we trust him? After everything you have seen."

"He seems willing to try…sir."

"That does not fill me with confidence."

Malcolme turned towards the leader of his order and glared in his direction, he couldn't help it, even though he did not want to be disrespectful.

"Even still, there is a legion of Darkspawn in your way between Orzamaar, or any other entrance of the Deep Roads, and the Old God prisons. It would take an army to reach them, and even then it is unlikely they will make it without getting entirely wiped out. It is a fool's errand, and we do not have the Wardens to spare, not now, our order has to deal with the Darkspawn on our terms, as they come out for raids, or if another Blight comes, we have to be vigilant, and the Darkspawn have had the chance to replenish their numbers, we do not have that luxury easily."

"We have to try."

"No, we don't. Especially with an uncertain ally who aims to do what to the surface world. We need time."

"You will not even give me permission to pursue this matter on my own?"

"In your current mood, no, I will not."

Malcolme heisted.

"Was there anything else?"

"No sir."

"Dismissed then."

Malcolme inclined his head and walked out the door heading around the corner, and out the fortress.

_Outside __Weisshaupt_.

Malcolme Cousland stood in the shadow of one of the great watchtower stones, away from the sight of the fortress proper, not a single fellow Grey Warden in sight.

"It did not go well?" The Architect's voice broke behind him.

The Cousland did not even flinch. "No, it did not."

The Architect appeared over his shoulder and Malcolme glanced over at him, and nearly recoiled at the sight of him. _Working with a talking Darkspawn, how did it come to this?_ He wondered.

"I expected as much, the Grey Wardens are fearful of my mere existence, fearful of plunging into the dark."

"Fearful of losing the few of us which are left." Malcolme countered.

"Then perhaps it is time to do what we do best, and take the fight to the enemy before it is too late."

"They won't listen, and we have been traveling Thedas for months now, through Orzammar, seeking information on the Old Gods. The Warden Archives was our last real bet."

"The Wardens are not the only ones who had an interest in the Blights and the Darkspawn, not the last ones with ancient history." The Architect wondered.

"You want to go to Tevinter?" Malcolme asked folding his arms over his chest.

"It is the last place we can look without stumbling through the Deep randomly. It is our last hope. And is not far from here."

"We've come this far?" Malcolme asked with a twist of the mouth and an arching eyebrow.

"Indeed. Shall we?"

"We have to secure Horses or other means of transport, and the food. I think the Warden Quartermaster will help us out nicely and free of charge. At least for now. I am a Commander of the Grey, in the South, and should be able to appropriate one."

"I will find…my own transport." The Architect said before stalking off.

"OK…that is not creepy at all.


	2. Hawke Estate

_The Estate of Hawke_

Aeryn Hawke stood looking out her window, _her rather small window truth be told_ looking down on some of the rooftops and other homes in the district she lived in being one of the upper crust of society. Thanks to her wealth, thanks to her position and her deeds. _Home sweet home_.

Yet, the home had become dusty and oppressive. She sighed. The streets of Kirkwall had lost almost all of their life, a constant over cast had settled down on the town, only the people who absolutely had to be out on the streets, were. The rest? Hiding. Waiting. Continuing to take their long breath. Waiting for the hammer to fall.

_Hard to believe it's been two months_. Two months since Anders blew up the Chantry, since the Mages rebelled, since few survived, and the city was ripped apart in the cross fire. And still no Viscount. Little of the damage had been repaired. Even after the battle with the Qunari the Templar Order drove the repair efforts, the City Guard, herself, Anders. Now, there was no unifying authority to rebuild the city and try getting things back to normal. The city was just paralyzed, waiting.

She heard the door open and close behind her, but no greeting, Sandal and Bodahn had left long ago. She waited though, ignoring, whoever it was was probably more than welcome. No one had dared enter her home who wasn't a friend.

"They're coming." Anders's voice spoke from behind her.

"Oh? The Templars? I thought they would have been trotting along long before now. Cullen must be a really, slow, runner."

"Well…Orlais isn't exactly next door my love." Anders snorted. "But, Varric's network says that a Templar battalion had stopped in Starkhaven. They should be here in about a week."

"Wow, a whole battalion, now I feel important."

"This is not a joke!" Anders snapped with a certain electric whir to his voice, causing Aeryn to spin on him.

"Sorry." He sighed his muscles relaxing.

"It's alright Anders," she smirked at him, moving to place a hand on his shoulder…trying to comfort the troubled soul "just relax."

"But what are we going to do? We are all that is left, well unless you count Varric, and he is in no rush to leave. Isabella…well who knows where she got off to. Merrill fled. Aveline took Donnic and they both went into hiding…pity that she wouldn't have made a bad Viscount. Fenris took off almost as soon as the battle ended…I mean we are the only ones who are left. The ones who did it. The ones the Chantry is looking for. Who knows what we started here, but the Chantry may not take kindly to us when they get here. We have to go."

"I know we have to go…but where do we go? I really don't like the idea of running without a plan. I did that once and almost ran head long into the center of a Darkspawn hoard."

Anders diverted his eyes and looked at the floor, biting his lip, suddenly he looked pensive and thoughtful, but in such a way that Hawke _knew_ he was about to suggest something she wouldn't like. It was a similar look that passed, briefly, over his face, before he lied to her down under his clinic. Before he enlisted her help in blowing up the Chantry.

The whole thing really did seem insane to her on a second viewing of the situation. By rights she should have turned him over to the Templars and washed her hands of it, fled Kirkwall while she still could. But Meredith had to declare the Right of Annulment. Had to turn against the Circle blaming every single mage for the actions of one, thus starting a war. Threatening to kill them all. Even _her own sister_. Hawke couldn't have stood aside, and she couldn't have killed Anders. She needed him.

So it seems whatever she wanted to do, the feelings of betrayal, of hurt, of love, whatever her feelings her course was set. She was a renegade, an outlaw, the Templars would have been screaming for her blood as an accessory to murder, rebellion, for harboring several apostates, on and on it went.

And the Templars still had the divine authority of the Chantry behind them.

Plus, she really did love the man, still, she had fallen hard and fast and nothing was going to be able to save her soul in _that_ regard. On top of all those feelings a nagging part of her brain thought, _he was even right_. But the more rational part of her felt that sounded like a justification. Justifying his actions because she felt strongly for him and felt he was a good person underneath it all.

And a part of her was disgusted with him, that he used her, and what he used her to do.

All of these thoughts rolled through her mind, she was hurt, confused, and sick of it all.

"Tevinter," Anders uttered snapping her out of her trance, "We could go to Tevinter."

Her mouth opened wide for a second, she could almost feel a bit of drool running down it, she had to wipe it while clearing her wits. "Maker's Breath Anders, whatever for?"

"It's far," he smiled with an ironic grin, a ghost of what she came to know and love, but other reasons were hiding in his eyes.

"Anders…"

He sighed, "I didn't lie to you…not fully anyways. There was a small kernel of truth in the plan. If anyone has knowledge of a ritual to separate me and Justice, it would be in the Imperium."

"And you would want that…why?" She asked. "After all you and Justice were getting along, so you said when you blew up the Chantry." Her tone slashed through the air bitterly, more so then she had intended. She sighed.

He whirled around and faced the door, head lowering, arms going around his chest. "We are…sort of. But I want to be free, that wasn't entirely a lie either, and Justice…I think he thinks I have outlived my usefulness. Now that I have gone through with the plan, he thinks I am compromised, he wants out…and it's making things…awkward."

"Well, it was just peachy before, Anders." She teased.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her, "true," he admitted.

She nodded, then cocked her head at him. Her hands went about her body and rocked slightly, it felt _cold_ in here.

"Plus the Imperium is outside of normal Chantry authority, we'd be safe, distant, even if we can't find a cure to my problem we'd still be on the outside of society. Safe."

"Yes," Aeryn scoffed, "a pantheon of blood mages at every turn. Plots, conspiracies, and a hostile environment…what could go wrong?" She smirked. "And you'd be a celebrity, there would probably be more than one Magister who would want a crack inside your skull to get at the Justice inside."

He smirked, "And true again."

She sighed and started pacing. Her Mabari hound glanced up at her and whined curiously, then started panting, she shot the mutt a grateful smile but kept on at it. In truth she didn't want to leave Kirkwall, it had become her home, despite the relative size of it…how much could they carry with them? _Not much_. Aeryn admitted to herself. _Most of it would get left behind_.

The could rent horses, donkies, the Mabari could travel with them, but in the end they would have to travel light, to avoid suspicions of them being less than honest.

"It's settled then, by night fall we'll set out for Tevinter, but we'll need to travel as light as we can, avoid Starkhaven, and escape before the Templars arrive."

"I will go tell Varric and get my clinic ready, I'm sure he could make a few preparations for us."

She nodded, "Good," Smiled, and the two leaned in for a quick kiss, Aeryn felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks. _Just like old times…I miss the old times._

With her decision made they moved to get ready for the road. Aeryn let Anders go to his clinic while she stayed to sort through her stuff.

She took one last tour of the mansion seeing every nook and cranny, even what Isabella had carved into her railing, the hand prints from Sandal doing his thing, and everything else of note. _I have to leave a lot of it behind_. She thought, again. But this time the thought seemed more real, more final. She had lived in Kirkwall for upwards of seven years, almost as long as her conscious memories of Lothering.

But, she had no time to reminisce further, as she stopped at the old bits of her keep sakes from Ferelden, the one which used to hold Flemeth's amulet in it. It still gave her the creeps thinking about it. _Can't take the statues with me_, she thought with a smile.

Finally, she got ready, looking through her dresser debating on which piece of armor to take. It took her a moment, between the armor of the Ensalin, and her Champion Armor gifted to her for saving the city from the Qunari. Something she had to find, but it was still hers. _Practical versus blending in?_ She plucked the Ensalin armor off of its holster and began tossing the items in a pack, quickly, getting it ready.

With the Champion armor anyone might be able to put the pieces together. It was distinctive, deadly looking, and someone could recognize it as being from Kirkwall, and this might raise questions, or at least get her noticed. While the Ensalin armor, while not as thick and strong, served her well. The leather strong enough to deflect almost any arrow or blow, at least giving her time. And it looked simple, comfortable, something any adventurer would wear doing their travels. Any highwayman.

In truth she preferred it to the Champion Armor but that Armor _was_ stronger, and allowed her to flaunt her position.

No, this called for her blending in, being inconspicuous, and being most importantly comfortable as they made their way ever northward.

With that decided she plucked out a few more pieces of clothing and folded them into her travel bad.

Now for the bow, she decided quickly, a lot more quickly then she had the armor decision. She decided on _both_ her primary Long bows she still had on her. The Hawke's key she obtained during the adventure hunting down the Ancient Magister Coryphaeus, and the Jackal Longbow. The Key _could_ identify her as a Hawke, to anyone who knew, but for sentimentality she had to take it with her. And it was her best Longbow, the most damaging, the most capable.

_I can buy arrows before we head on out_, she thought.

Next came the supplies for her Dog, Dog treats, and the like, and finally after that her supply of runes. _There, all settled_. She smiled, exiting the door to do her 'shopping'.

…

"You sure you don't want to come with me Varric?" She asked the diminutive Dwarf as he came up to them making their final preparations.

"Nah, I am fine Hawke."

"Are you sure, it could be awfully lonely in Kirkwall…all by yourself." Her eyes twinkled.

"What?" Varric barked a laugh and glanced over at Anders. "Afraid Justice will come out and ruin your romantic trip to Tevinter?"

"No, it's not that, I feel I could use to hear your stories…he is occasionally…terribly boring."

"Heh," Varric murmured.

And then he took her gently by the arm and dragged her off to the side. Around one of the corners, away from their horses, and away from Anders's prying eyes or prying ears.

"How are you two doing?"

"Couldn't be better." She smiled cherrily.

"Hawke." Varric graveled.

She sighed, and glanced through the building as if she could see the blond haired mage. "It's…complicated…confusing. I am afraid of him, I afraid for him, and I still can't help but love him…but part of me wants to see him pay for the crimes he has committed."

"But yet if he pays, then you'd pay to."

Hawke nodded, "That's part of it," She admitted.

He nodded, and sighed, "I am no expert in matters of love…I have made…plenty of mistakes all on my own in that regard. But…if you love each other…if he loves you…he will look after you. You've saved him once before, maybe you can do so again."

She nodded, and flashed him a small smile, "Take care of yourself Varric."

"Eh, don't worry about me Hawke. If the Templars do come I can always claim to be a Dwarven dupe, just a simple bard. Who got caught into a vile conspiracy between a Roguish lady and an insane mage. And then point them in the direction of Orlais, just for kicks."

She grinned, "Good luck with that."

"I'm sure it will be a smash hit," Varric said as they both returned to the horses and got ready to depart.

"Varric…I hope to see you again…but in case we don't…goodbye."

"Hell of a goodtime knowing you blondie." Varric teased.

Anders turned to Hawke, "Are you ready to go my love?"

Hawke nodded, "Set."

She climbed up into her saddle, mounting the horse and straddling it, towering over the diminutive dwarf. Her Mabari picked that perfect moment to start whining. She shot him an appreciative look, and nodded. She waved bye to Varric, who did the same to her. He and Anders traded a nod.

And they were off, rapidly leaving Kirkwall at the dead of night, their two Horses and a supply Ox. Leaving so no one could hopefully make notice of their passing. Though if there were prying eyes about it wouldn't do them any good.

_Next stop, Tevinter_, Hawke thought bitterly.


	3. The Road and Strange Companions

_The Long Road_

The Warden Commander of Amaranthine, former Arl of that province, and slayer of the most recent Archdemon, was huddled in a tent perhaps two sizes too small for his purposes, as wind howled around them and buffeted their place of residence, eating some cold porridge.

_Ah Camp life, I have hardly missed ye_.

Though in truth even when they were living by their wits, on the road, during the Blight, the conditions were a lot better than they were here. With his assembled force of companions, always loyal, never leaving his side, and a Golem in their ranks no less, not to mention Bodahn and Sandal, they had more than enough muscle power to drag along a plethora of supplies.

Plus his decision to split the group up, only taking three other companions on his adventures at any one time while the rest watched their stuff or came up the road behind them in carts, it was easier to build a much larger camp. Now with him and the Architect, the latter seeming most ill at ease on the open road, all they could afford was a meagre set of supplies and a single tent. After all if no one saw them or noticed their passage they could slip on by, and without a large number of supplies for themselves they could move lightly, quickly, and less to guard, since no one else was with them.

_I miss my friends_. Malcolme thought, finally managing to weasel the porridge down his gullet.

He eyed his traveling companion up for a second. The Architect just sat there, while he tried to look at ease, somehow his expression managed to convey his obvious discomfort. He just _sat_ there, legs crossed over one another. Eyes closed, not eating, not participating, simply meditating.

Malcolme gulped the gruel down. "I'm not a good enough cook for you?" He said.

The Architect's eyes snapped open, and then fluttered as if he was trying to get used to the small cooking fire.

"Indeed, but I prefer my food to be a little more…alive…and I am not hungry."

"You have not eaten since we started out together," Malcolme pointed out, trying to get his companion caught in a lie.

"I last ate _in_ the Anderfells, it seems Darkspawn can go far longer without food then Mortal Man. As long as we can control ourselves, otherwise we are mindless monsters, feeding sometimes to the point of death."

Malcolme's eyes pulled down into a furrow, "How have your people survived for so long? Without direction?"

The Architect growled, low in the pit of his stomach, if he were human Malcolme could have sworn he was _snorting_. The noise subsided for a second and the Warden assumed his companion was not going to answer a simple question so he turned to continue with his meal.

"We have direction," The Architect finally uttered. "That…and we usually find a way. Even if it means 'warring' with ourselves. But always…they call."

"The Old Gods?" Malcolme asked.

The Architect nodded slowly, "The things that keep us enslaved to their whims. Whether they even know it or not. Constantly they call, the music drowns everything else out. And…we do not know how to act otherwise."

"You do."

That same growling noise met his pronouncement.

"And what have I done with my gift of freedom? What can I do? I continue to misjudge. People, my disciples, often creating monsters, or misunderstanding, leading my people further to war then farther away."

Malcolme thought about his words for a second, but felt he had to turn back to the last of the porridge before it became too ungainly, too bad. He managed to take another mouthful, and rolled it around on his tongue for a minute, going 'hmm' despite himself. The Architect looked at him curiously.

"I trust you," He pronounced finally after another minute.

The Architect hissed _laughter?_

"Do you now? You trust me? The big bad monster hiding in plain site? Tell me Warden Commander, why did you spare me?"

Malcolme sighed, his mind racing, the sudden urge to reach for his sword became almost too hard to press. But he mentally batted the thought aside, as a man would batting aside an annoying fly. If the Architect really wanted him dead Malcolme imagined he would be.

Yet the silence had become oppressive as the Architect clearly expected an answer.

"I don't know," Malcolme admitted, taking the full plunge in truth, "I often find you repulsive, found you repulsive, wanting to run my blade through you the first chance I got, in fact I am still tempted."

The Architect was silent for a moment as his bones cracked and the air hung down between them ominously.

"At least you are truthful Malcolme Cousland, Commander of the Gray." He finally uttered. "And I cannot blame you. My appearance…I look not like any Elf or Human or Dwarf the world has ever seen. I am an abomination. A Darskspawn, the thing that you have sworn to hunt and spend your whole life dedicated towards the killing of me and my people. Of stopping the Blights as they happen. Yet, you did spare me."

Malcolme sighed, "I know, but right now the…" his mouth twisted into a half grimace half smirk, "the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And if you can help me stop the Blights, help me free your people from the Call. Then it is worth it. Whatever our agenda is, whether we have to kill each other after the fact, I am willing to at least work that far. Our agendas are aligned. Even if it kills us."

The Architect nodded, "I am unsure whether that is wisdom or foolishness, but I understand."

The Architect returned to his meditation and this time pressed the palm of his fingers together. Malcolme sighed and twisted his body, rolling over trying to find his pack. Fishing in it, cursing to himself as he jabbed his hand on a cutting knife.

He wondered what to do, _the bow or another jar of that rotgut_. Malcolme wondered. He _could_ go hunting, try and find them a nice rabbit, or a deer, have proper venison, something _alive_.

But the tent suddenly rocked, it nearly came off its foundations as the storm gave one last heave and he saw the cooking fire he made outside suddenly whirl itself out.

"That does it!"

He felt the Architect's eyes snap open next to him and give him a less then amused look.

"Come on, we need good food, well _I_ need good food. Let us hope the town on the map up the road has a good inn."

He made to get up, securing his armor to him and making sure to grab both his swords and his Mage's Eye longbow. The Architect moved to follow him, getting up, and bones once more creaking flesh bristling.

"You are coming with me?" Malcolme asked his eyebrow lifting in surprise.

"I am cold too," The Architect smiled ruefully, "I will be out of sight, waiting for you."

Malcolme nodded. "Let's go then."

The two of them stepped out into the storm. Malcolme walking and trudging in the soft dirt, the Architect _floating_ behind him. He completed his traveling preparations by swinging a traveling cloak around his shoulders, and walking out into the darkness. Using his bow as a makeshift staff.

Even though it was almost pitch black, and thus hard to see, Malcolme knew the path well. He had been traveling it for days, and in the last minutes before darkness he had mapped out a specific route of travel to wherever he needed, also memorizing the map of this section of Orlais.

He darted through the trees, quickly, expertly, keeping up a brisk semi jog, if for no other reason to keep his body warm and not to keep it from freezing over in the chill from the storm. His training, the many months of his life as a Grey Warden being solely responsible for the Blight, and the Warden Commander of Ferelden during the middle of a Darkspawn Civil War.

After five minutes of hard travel he found the dirt path, the one carved out in the middle of the forest by scouts or woodcutters, _or even animals_, turned right, and tore down to it. From his scouting he knew this would connect him to the Imperial hHghway, and he would spring until he reached the intersection, before moving in a slow leisurely walk.

_My chances for discovery is much higher when I reach the Imperial Highway, much safer to walk through the area when I get there calmly, if I look like I am fleeing I may draw unneeded attention._

The Architect meanwhile was nowhere to be _seen_ but Malcolme knew he was back there. Could feel the warning signs prickle on the back of his neck as he marched in the right direction.

Finally, after ten minutes, he reached the Highway and turned right again. The town would just be down the way, far in the distance. But the storm seemed calmer now that he had managed to escape the forest.

He sighed, _I hope this was a good idea_.

It took him two hours to get to where he was going. _Maker it has to be almost Midnight, hope the Inn is still open_. But he finally crested the small hill looking down at the small and quaint Orlseian town cut in the middle of a small valley. A few lights were still on which, as Malcolme reflected _is a good thing_.

And the inn was indeed still open. Malcolme pushed on the door as he could feel the fire and the heat beyond it, and stepped into the warm inviting hall. His eyes watered from the sudden blaze of light, but he did not close them or blink, only squinting.

A portly old woman tore her gaze up from the parchment she was reading and her mouth went agape at his presence. "Maker's Breath man! Do you know the time?" She yelled at him.

Malcolme smiled at the woman, ignoring the barb, "Your finest cut of meat you have available, please." The Commander of the Gray semi ordered.

"But-"

"I will make it worth your while." He said showing her three gold sovereigns he got out of his pouch.

The woman's eyes went truly wide in shock.

And Malcolme gave her a look trying to communicate, _and that is all, so don't even try and think of robbing me_.

The woman clearly had a similar thought as her eyes glanced at the two swords he had strewn to his back, then over at his bow.

"Coming right up Ser." She said scrambling to make the preparations.

Malcolme Cousland waited for her to finish finding a seat by the fire, kicking up his boots and leaning back in his chair. The fire felt warm, inviting, lulling him deeper into a feeling of serenity. His eyes drooped, but did not close, his body relaxed, but did not falter. He slept with the proverbial one eye open. Letting his body relax from its exertions but remaining at least semi alert. _Maker's Breath, am I really getting too old for this, it's been a long time since the Blight Malcolme._

The old woman's slamming his food down on the table a moment later snapped him out of it fully, his danger sense had not prickled, and one glance over the woman confirmed she was quite unarmed.

She had even thrown in a courteous mug of mead.

Malcolme nodded his thanks but without another word tore into his food with a proper gusto, guzzling down his mead quickly. He was both hungry, but wanted to be quick about it, he had to get back to his tent eventually tonight and had this might be his last good meal ticket for a while.

And with a flourish of his fork, he finished, pretending he was once more the pompous noble of his youth, with little better to do then play soldier and make play patterns in the air with his food.

He sat for a moment, letting his digestive fluids work their particular magic, but only for a minute, he got up and began heading back for the door.

Malcolme Cousland gripped his bow, nodded, and stepped out into the darkness once more. The storm had passed, the stars were out, the moon was now high in the sky, and Malcolme was grateful for at least that blessing as he worked his way out onto the main street.

"You there, traveler." A voice suddenly called out.

Malcolme whirred around his bow coming up into a more secure position, but no arrow, and no threat. He was faced with three dark shapes, he couldn't quite make them out in the darkness the light from the oil lamps only barely providing for any illumination at all.

"You are presented in an aura of dark magic my friend." The lead of the three put his hand out, his palm facing Malcolme directly. Malcolme couldn't decide if the gesture was supposed to look friendly or threatening.

"Oh? What of it?" Malcolme returned neutrally.

"Well, we are experts in Dark Magic." One of his others growled.

"And you are a Grey Warden. A single Grey Warden all alone, we can feel the taint rolling off you."

"And?" Malcolme asked his hand tightend even father around his bow.

"Our masters would pay dearly for Grey Warden blood, you have great power in your blood my friend, power which can be harnessed, but your order is too weak to see the potential." The leader said.

"A new form of magic." One of his compatriots supplemented.

Malcolme hissed, the staffs came alive in eerie glows, it illuminated their faces barely and the robes they worse. He caught something out of the corner of his eye, a flash for a second.

"Magisters," Malcolme growled suddenly putting two and two together as he was want to do.

His Bow came up in a fluid motion bringing him to look down it as he aimed, his hand reached bow to an arrow as he attempted to bring it to string fast enough to get a killing blow off before he too was overpowered.

But it was far too late for that.

A bright light flashed just beside his leg nearly blinding him as he was thrown to the side and flew backwards hitting the ground hard, knocking all the breath from his lungs in a gasping wheeze.

His vision cleared quickly and he rolled to glare at his opponents, they were fanning out, staffs glowing, Malcolme slowly worked to get his bow into action. But, again, he was going to be far too late to do much.

Suddenly the air behind him crackled and out of nowhere a Fireball lanced through the night and exploded in the middle of the three Tevinter mages. They howled in pain, gasped in shock as they looked to see where the new threat had come from.

And the Architect floated right on past Malcolme advancing on the Magisters boldly. The Magister reaction was typical for their training and their temperament. _Deal with the largest threat first, the Warden is probably out of the fight anyways_, Malcolme knew, as their three staffs came up to deal with the new threat.

Malcolme quickly demonstrated the folly of their ways though as he nocked an arrow, and while still lying down, flattened his bow out, and fired. The flaming arrow caught the Magister Leader in his knee, as the bottom of his robes began to catch fire. He hissed and howled out his pain at the indignity of getting shot by a simple Warden. Before he could turn to engage the Architect was already right on top of them, again presenting the much larger threat.

The air around him crackled as a bolt of light and another bolt of fire slammed into the leader, he crumpled on one knee and his magical shield flared. His comrades weren't as lucky as another burst of light caught the man flush in the chest driving him back, into the wall, clearly dead. The other one the Architect maneuvered around and deftly snapped his neck.

The Leader howled his rage drawing his staff as it flashed a menacing red. Malcolme flashed moving in a blur, picking himself up, getting on one knee, and firing a single arrow through the air which slashed into the Magister's head, knocking him back. He fell in the dirt clearly dead.

The Human Noble Cousland picked himself up and stalked over to the Darkspawn emissary.

"Are you alright?"

"We should probably go." The Architect hissed clearly sounding a bit winded.

Malcolme glanced around the street up and down watching them clearly. _He's right_. People had come alive, lights were turning on, dogs continued their barking, and he felt a few angry words wash over him.

Malcolme hissed, wishing suddenly he was some rogue, a thief, cutpurse, and not a noble warrior. He knew his place though, as him and the Architect quickly fled down the road. The onlookers far more concerned about the three corpses in the street then pursuing them…for the moment.


	4. Three is a Crowd

_Somwhere in Antiva_

Aeryn Hawke shivered. Well the _front _of her shivered but her back end, her back and the other parts of her body were being slowly massaged by the slow and steady thrum of healing magic.

"Maker's Breath Anders, you are _good_ at this." She purred.

"You need to take things more slowly my love." Ander murmured in response, the disapproval clear.

"Anders, we are in the middle of nowhere traveling to the Tevinter Imperium, I don't think I can afford to," she hissed as his magic scraped across her, "_take it easy." _

"Well," He said, "Not easy, just _easier_."

Aeryn hissed and was about to respond but was lost in a brief wave of eccstacy as the magic had found _just the right spot down her back_. It was strangely exhilarating.

"A fine distinction," She said finally.

She felt his smile behind her. And she relaxed herself. _Just enjoy it…just relax_. And so she did. Her muscles unclenched and she closed her eyes just letting the magic work…its magic.

Her body murmured, enjoying itself, getting lost in the present, and the past. Her voice joined its murmurs, doing so happily.

_It has been a while since I've been able to relax…especially with him…forgetting the war, the world, the stress, my important place seemingly in the world._ _I wish I could just stay like this forever, find a regular job, but it seems I am good at this sort of thing_.

Anders hissed behind her. "Aeryn."

"Sorry," She felt her muscles had become tense again.

The healing magic went back to rolling across her. After a short time, he was done.

"There," he said, the magic abruptly stopped, and her muscles clenched, "I have done about all I can do for you now."

"Awww." She said putting the proper mix of disappointment and sarcasm into her words.

When he did not respond she turned to look back at him. He was leaning against the back of the tent cradling a bottle of Lyrium and sipping from it as if it was some vintage brandy imported direct from Antiva. _Topping up?_

Anders smiled when he noticed her looking and patted the ground next to him. She took the invitation and maneuvered to sit next to him allowing his arms to go around her and pull her in close. His arms felt familiar, safe, she felt familiar, and safe. Again getting lost in old times like this was not a murderer of an old lady and a bunch of young sisters.

_Focus Aeryn, just enjoy the moment, hopefully we can cure him_.

At the thought of _curing_ him she looked up at him, and he looked down. They stared at each other. It was hard to think of him as needing to be cured. He wasn't sick.

_Just Possessed_.

She shivered.

After all the warnings she had heard from her father, overhearing him talk to Bethany about her gift, she had fallen for a man who was possessed by a spirt form another world. She was his and he was hers. And he didn't _usually_ look like one of the abominations of old, all twisted and mangled, he didn't act evil _except for the obvious_. When he was Anders he was kind and gentle, just and passionate, cautious but yet determined.

Yet, there was something rolling through him that could turn him into something very different. And yet Justice was now as part of him and his personality as vice versa.

_It must be hell for him in there, Maker help him_.

And now they were heading to the Tevinter Imperium, the heart of the most evil land to ever walk Thedas. So the Chantry taught them. A land ruled by mages. A land steeped in old magic. A land who had probably forgotten more about magic then any people in history. _Certainly any human people_. There were powerful people in that world. Powerful secrets. She had sometimes wondered if they hunted for old relics about the past, like the Dalish, like Merrill.

_All I can ask is that one of those secrets sets him free_. She murmured to herself lazily stroking his chest as she started to feel over so sleepy. A hard day's work, a hard day's ride, and a hard day's stress had been quite draining for her. All she could ask was to fall asleep in the arms of the man she loved.

Then, her Mabari growled.

Aeryn's head snapped up as she looked up trying to see through the closed slit of the tent and into the forest beyond.

"Ha!" A voice called. "A quaint little tent all alone in the night. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I don't know," another voice murmured, "looks pretty small."

"Better hall then we've had in two weeks." A third voice groused.

Anders and Aeryn looked at each other, his hand already searching blindly for his staff pattering the ground.

"Bandits." Aeryn mouthed.

Anders nodded his affirmative to the suggestion.

Fortunately for them the bandits, despite their confidence, were apparently being cautious of their potential victims. _They aren't stupid_. Which was actually working at their advantage for a change.

They scrambled to get ready Anders's preparations were simple as all he needed was his staff and he stared out at the darkness beyond the tent. Her preparations were a lot more comprehensive. She needed to quench her armor and snapped it on pulling it through, the tan leather shining in the light from the tent. She scooped up her bow and her quiver in the same motion and placed the quiver around her back, already drawing an arrow.

Anders held the flap open as they both dove on through.

"Ha! See there are only two of them! Make it easy for yourself and we might-"

He never got finished as Aeryn loosed her suddenly flaming arrow straight through the guy's flimsy leather protection.

The rest of the bandits called out a warning as they rushed and dove to the side, and then cautiously started to advance on the two of them, weapons drawn, murder in their eyes.

Her Mabari got free of its restraints and flew into the mass of men, into its flank, picking out one man in particular and mauling him with a flurry of bites and slashes, tearing out his throat in the process. The man howled and protested his death throws. "Get it off! Get it off!"

His protests didn't last long.

Anders's staff flashed.

"Look out they have a mage!" One of the bandits called out. "We're no Templars!"

"Its just one mage, they can't take us all out, even they get tired eventually!" Another bandit called out boldly but with an uncertain edge coloring his voice.

"Don't count on it!" Anders challenged.

He bought a great lightning storm to hand. The bolts flashed and crackled through the group striking through several of them, rolling and stunning them, blind and stupid, their bodies freezing as the lightning took their will from them. It also lit the advancing forces clearly. Giving Aeryn a shot.

She pulled her string back nocking an arrow as she went. Cleanly and efficiently she mowed through the three men ahead of them who were stunned. An easy shot at such short range, and with them frozen in place. Her arrows cut through them killing them quickly.

Before she was even done she already brought another arrow to string, her eyes sweeping the forest for targets. A shape rustled through the leaves and charged her position. She aimed, and fired, her arrow striking through the targets foot perfectly pinning him.

He tried to wrench his foot free, twitching his foot, and trying to get it free. Instantly another arrow went to her bow and she aimed down at it. The man was clearly young.

But somehow he managed to get his foot free, a gut wrenching tear split the air. He looked up at her satisfied, but grimacing.

"Don't do it son." She pleaded.

The man didn't listen, he flexed his Warhammer and charged, more limping at her.

Aeryn put him down, the arrow flying, blazing with a fiery trail, right through the man's breastplate and his heart, killing him instantly.

She glanced through the forest again, scanning her surroundings. _Is that all of them? _

A bolt whistled out of the darkness slamming into the dirt just in front of her feet. _I guess not_. Another bolt followed it but she back flipped out of the way, quickly seeing where her target was.

Before her backflip even completed she was already working her arms, they went to her quiver when she landed, and instinctually, from a hundred different arrows she fired, she picked up the target and loosed yet another flaming missile. It slammed into the target's head jolting it back, snapping it, and the man fell in a heap.

It took her a few more minutes before she was fully confident that their enemy was fully vanquished, and they were appreciatively safe.

The silence was beginning to become oppressive between them, the Dog even stopped growling and started panting. The only noise to break up the tension.

"Well, that was exhilarating." Anders spoke suddenly, splitting the air and silence with humor.

She smirked, and the adrenaline began to bleed off of her. She suddenly felt cold, she groaned out as her body began reacting to the lack of Adrenaline. She ached all over.

"Aeryn?" Anders was by her side in a second, holding her.

"You're right…I need to take it easier. I think I ache all over."

Anders sighed, "I feel…weak myself. That battle took a lot out of me. It's been a while since I flexed my…own muscles like that."

"There is more than one way to work out stress, Anders." She purred at him.

He instantly reacted to the suggestion becoming quite animated himself. His lips clung to hers, probing, hot passion breathing over and into her. She moaned as her tongue shot into his mouth, gratefully, eagerly.

He grunted as the tent flap flew open behind him and he pushed her, not roughly, into the room leaving her flat on her back.

She licked her lips as he advanced boldly, crawling into the tent, moving to mount her. Her back arched in passion as she was waiting for him to take her in a manly fashion. Doing her best to hold on.

The mage became more enflamed quickly and expertly stripping her of her armor. And then working on the buttons of her traveling clothes as he slowly peeled her clothes back. Finally revealing her underclothes, her chest heaving underneath them. He gave her a look and then moved to kiss her some more.

Aeryn swooned.

"_You will not distract him!" _

"Anders?" Her eyes blinked open.

And it was no longer Anders towering above her. The telltale blue white lines had burst through the skin, the telling smoke rising from his skin. Justice had returned.

"Justice!"

"_You are a disease Hawke, he is needed to free mages, and instead he chases your tail like a love sick puppy_."

A million charming retorts raced through her head but before she could utter a single one his hands went around her neck. He picked her head up and then slammed it back into the ground, her vision blurring. But before she could continue to protest his fingers pressed into her flesh, digging into her throat. Trying to drain the life from her.

And it was working. She could feel herself let go, the breath coming out in slower and slower wheezes. She coughed and spluttered. Her fingers were dancing and struggling began to lose their animation becoming stiller and stiller. But moving ever closer to her hip.

Aeryn Hawke with what remained of her strength and breath pounced on the opportunity pulling the Rogue's dagger from its sheath, and slashing it across Anders's arm in the process.

Justice howled in rage and leapt back, giving her room to maneuver.

She spun back getting into a half crouch bringing the knife up in a reverse grip so she could slash it across him if he made any move against her, and she almost pulled it back and buried it hilt deep into his head anyways out of self protection.

But Anders was back.

"No don't Aeryn, it's me!"

"Anders?" She asked still uncertain.

"Yes my love," He collapsed against the tent's wall and started wailing, whacking the side of the tent enraged at himself.

Aeryn frowned at him, and sighed, beginning to redress herself. And moving to sit next to her boyfriend. But still kept her distance, and she kept her knife loose.

_Just in case something happened._


	5. Into the Archives

_Grey Warden Tevinter Outpost_

A fog rolled over the area hugging the ground at knee height in the early morning hours in the Tevinter Imperium in the far North. His under clothes and Drakeskin leathers clung to him like an especially wet blanket in the humidity. But, if one survived the Blight one can survive one can survive a little dampness. _So I believe anyways_, Malcolme Cousland thought.

Two rows of Gray Wardens stood out in the middle of a field in front of the castle walls, many of them were at attention, but a few lazed about, looking as though there would almost rather be somewhere else then here.

Along with the leader standing apart, directly in front of Malcolme, it made…_35…35 Wardens_.

Their leader was an elder mage. His hair pulling back on his balding head in a crown of white. A slight bristle of growth was along his chin in an imitation of a beard. He leaned on his mage's staff, using it for support rather than just for show, making him look weak and pitiful rather than strong and majestic as a Warden and a Mage of his stature should exude.

"Greetings Augustus, Warden Commander of Tevinter."

"Greetings Malcolme, Warden Commander of Ferelden." The mage murmured back.

The two of them fell in, Malcolme's hands went behind his back and the Mage carried his staff even tighter. He had to keep pace with the mage, walking slowly.

"I dare say I am surprised to see so few Wardens here greeting me. I would have expected a lot more, what sorts of missions could keep scores of Wardens away without a Blight going on? Unless you know something."

The Mage smiled tightly back at him, "This is all there are."

"I beg your pardon." Malcolme's eyes went wide despite himself.

"Well, the _majority_ of them. I have four Wardens looking into a problem in some farms to the North West, and two more have gone to their…Calling. But essentially this is all I have left. Welcome to perhaps the smallest Warden contingent on the continent. Well," he smiled, "I daresay even Fereleden's efforts have outstripped us thanks to you, Warden Commander."

The Warden nodded, _well there is Rivain, the Free Marches, and others_, but he left the thought unspoken. Next to the vast legions of Wardens and Support Troops in Orlais and the Anderfells put the smattering of Wardens here to shame. _Especially without any Support Troops_ Malcolme noticed uncomfortably, _has the situation in Tevinter really degraded so badly?_

"Come Commander," The mage said, "there is a chill in the air and my office is much more comfortable. We can enjoy fine…Tevinter wine."

_A chill in the air?_ But the Human Noble nodded and let the Warden Commander of Tevinter lead.

His office was small, and sparse, and cramped, dominated by a large wooden desk. It was a cluttered wooden desk. The Mage sat behind it, feet up, boots off, Malcolme sat in front of it looking at the man curiously.

"So tell me," Augustus graveled suddenly, "What brings the Warden Commander of Ferelden to Tevinter?"

"I hope to look into the old archives of the Old God cults," Malcolme admitted, "I want to find the prisons where the Old Gods are kept."

The Warden's eyebrows went up into his hairline in surprise and he spluttered on his drink, "bold request. Whatever for?"

"I'd rather not say," Malcolme said, _let's not be _too_ truthful._

"Hmm," Augustus frowned, but his eyes lit up in dry mirth. "I can suppose since you are here and not at Weisshaupt fortress that the First Warden denied your request."

Malcolme froze, his face draining of expression.

"Hmm, what I thought." The Warden Commander shook his head. "Not, that it is any concern of mine." He laughed. "This is not a library. But an old outpost leased by the Imperium, and begrudgingly at that. And I have no control over the local libraries within the cities of Tevinter, the archives and sections, and I cannot stop you, not only do I not have the men to spare, but I am also not inclined to even make the attempt. Think of the Scandal!" He laughed.

Malcolme enjoyed his sifter of wine smiling behind it, his beard bristling, _I need a shave_. He admitted to himself.

"But, I must warn you, Commander of the Gray." Augustus slapped his hands together.

"Oh?" Malcolme's eyebrow lifted.

"Indeed, the local Magisters do not like the Grey Wardens. They do not support them, and even have faught me over the Right of Conscription, a few times, and since I have no local support troops, nor enough Wardens, usually I cannot press the issue."

"That is…" Malcolme spluttered. "Not good."

"Indeed, the situation is worse than that." Augustus grinned darkly. "I used to be a Magister."

Malcolme spluttered his drink and the remains of the beverage sloshed over on the floor.

"Which," Augustus pointed out, "does not exactly make me a popular fellow in Tevinter, and makes the Wardens by extension _less_ popular here than ever before." He chuckled darkly.

"I bet," Malcolme chuckled darkly joining him with a minor smile.

"Indeed, so that means I cannot provide you protection, once you go, you will be on your own."

Malcolme nodded, "Thank you, then I might as well get started."

_Minrathous_

Malcolme walked around in the darkness of the overhanging buildings in the Capitol City of the Imperium. The city felt _old_ around him. Perhaps the oldest city on the entire continent still standing. _It seems proud, proud but also lonely, decaying_.

The city felt like an old man who had lived a long life, suffered many great problems, and seen many great accomplishments, but was now fading. Only capable of telling the echo of past glory instead of charting a new path.

But there were more secrets and more history in this place than any other for this very reason. Some of the echos, were very real. _It would be like finding and excavating Arlathan, intact_.

Meanwhile the Architect followed him, Malcolme knew he was there through their link combined with the link in the taint, but he was invisible. He was wrapped in a cloak of magic which bent light around himself and made people forget he was there who did manage to pierce the veil. Though only who he wanted and not Malcolme, surprisingly enough.

They were approaching a building, a likely good starting point if nothing else. Part of the Circle of Magi complex of the Imperium, stretching out on the grounds before the tower itself. The archives of the great Magi, as well as, like the Circle itself, a temple dedicated to the worship of the Old Gods, the specific Old God. Maybe even one who hadn't been discovered yet, hadn't turned into an Archdemon, Malcolme didn't know.

They stepped in and the Warden Commander glanced the clerk standing behind his desk up for a minute. Instead of the normal 'Tranquil' one expected to see in the South of the continent, tending to similar shops in Ferelden and Tevinter, a young man stood there, with a rather large grin plastered on his face.

_It seems just a bit forced_, He thought.

"Welcome to the Circle Archives, if there is anything you can help me with all you have to do is ask?"

Malcolme felt the Architect pull back and shivered a bit, as if he was just doused in pure warmth and sunlight, the pin pricks of being exposed.

"Yes, I am here looking for relics of the Old Gods, maps, rumors, anything at all."

The smile flickered for a second, but didn't break. "The study of the Old Gods has been explicitly forbidden by the Circle of Magi." The man's gaze flickered to Malcolme's breastplate.

_Thankfully I made sure to hide my Warden insignia._ He grunted.

"Please, it is of the upmost importance…I am trying to…run down information on the Old Gods. Trying to find information on the Darkspawn, for scholarly reasons." Malcolme explained.

The man nodded, "Indeed," he came out behind the desk, no longer smiling, "follow me." He said grabbing a torch from a sconce.

He pressed on the door and it swung open dramatically before them with a great whoosh and a crash as it slammed into a stone wall. Malcolme followed him as he led them down a winding tight staircase going ever lower. Perhaps even into the earth itself.

They didn't travel for long as soon they leveled out, into a room, with tables full of parchment and bound books. Malcolme glanced around and thought he could have noticed a few maps.

"Here is the….table…one of our Magisters was conducting research here just the last week…looks like he didn't pick up after himself." The man said.

"Thank you." Malcolme nodded, and he left.

The Warden lit the torches in the room drawing up light.

The Architect popped in a few seconds later.

"Do you recognize anything Commander?" He asked.

"Lots of old maps, that might be a story…yeah…looks like a myth book on the Old Gods."

"Nothing can help us find them?" He pressed.

Malcolme sighed. "We won't know until we have looked."

The Architect agreed running his finger down a shelf, Malcolme started the same, looking at some of the maps which were still placed on the table. _A map of the Deep Roads, could be what we are looking for_. He thought, frowning.

"Alright, let's get to work."

After about two hours of working, despite the cramped surroundings there were sure a lot of books and piles of scrolls and Velum, stacked on the tables, on the floor, jammed into shelves. This was a place not meant to be shown to the outside world. Where all the deep dark secrets were kept, away from the light. Away from prying eyes of mere mortals who were curious or simply off put by the events around them. Trying to find their way in the dark.

Upstairs it was light, upstairs the books and tomes were kept in neat rows, and storage closets led off to the side for some more of the secret and stored books.

But here, here, the only light was fire light, one careless move could ruin everything.

Malcolme was determined to see this through. To see this to the end of the day, even though his stomach was starting to rattle and clench at itself.

He knew they might not get another chance.

"Found it!" The Architect reported shrilly.

Malcolme spun on him and watched his finger as he jabbed at a map in a book, a map in a book of the first notes of an early Andrastian scholar. _This book even predates the Chantry…the Circles…almost everything…and here he is…jabbing at it!_

But, it showed the prisons of the Old Gods, in as clear language, he said he was translating ancient script that he found from the Magisters, but it was by far the best lead they had.

"One of them isn't that far from Orzammar…I'd say about a month's travel?" Malcolme asked twisting his head to the Architect.

"Indeed," The Architect graveled. "And this one is…much farther than that."

"Indeed," Malcolme nodded, "almost on the other side of Thedas. But Orzammar is nowhere near there and if memory does serve there are no other entrances to the Deep Roads anywhere near the vicinity."

"But, we have a lead." The Architect muttered.

"Yep," He nodded, "Now all we need to do is gather our forces, our supplies, and go." Malcolme snapped the book shut and moved to do just that.


	6. A Nice Day in Tevinter

_Tevinter_

Aeryn Hawke was flipping over a manuscript, and she gave it a couple of good shakes to see if anything would fall out. When nothing did she frowned and snapped it off the table.

"Aeryn!" Anders remarked shocked. "What has that inoffensive tablet done to you?"

"Nothing!" Aeryn shouted drawing the attention of a few of the patrons of the establishment they were in. "That is the point after all my dear Anders, I want it to do something."

"Come now Aeryn, is scholarly activity not for you?"

Aeryn groaned, smirked, and laced her arms through each other folding them over her chest. "Well you can't exactly put an arrow through this problem. I don't think I've shot something in days…days!"

Many of the people in the room began grumbling at her. Shooting her dark looks, stroking their staffs and tapping them contemplatively on the floor. Aeryn watched them all with a smile, inclining in her seat to make sure they all got a good look at her bow.

_I won't go down without a fight suckers and I bet I can shoot a lot faster than you can conjure demons to get me_.

The crowd obviously decided she wasn't worth it, going back to their books and their walking through the alleys cut into the floor between the reading tables. None of them paid her much attention.

Anders breathed a sigh of relief and then shot Aeryn an inconspicuous glance. "You risk discovery my love." He hissed at her.

Aeryn Hawke arched an eyebrow at him and began to laugh lightly. "Oh I risk discovery do I? What is this the secret society? What could they possibly want with you, or us?"

"They might want me, or more specifically what is _in my head_." Anders hissed. "We've talked about this."

"Oh," Aeryn deadpanned.

"Yes, oh." Anders stated back at her.

She sighed.

They had been there for hours. Through many hours, with just a short break to grab a bite to eat in one of the local markets. One of the many local markets actually. But as soon as they were done it was straight back to work.

Looking up herbs and remedies, spells and incantations, magical theories of the obscure and the profane. Even though the Circle had the vast majority of the collected works of Tevinter magical study, it was not alone. The whole country was still a mage's paradise, _for better or for worse_. It could encourage good and evil. And the current group of Magisters and leadership looked the other way and did a nod and a wink about the 'unsanctioned' magic coating the floor and the various libraries and universities and archives of the Imperium.

Though they had opted to not go specifically to the Circle. A realm of mages, especially with the loose restrictions of the Imperium, could easily discover Anders's secret.

Aeryn sighed, _the one I almost blew anyways_.

Anders leaned back and started rubbing his eyes, "Maker, I didn't know there would be so much reading…and most of it meaningless."

Aeryn smirked, "Well maybe I could start yelling from the top of my lungs and then do a wild strip tease on the table."

"Maker that would certainly draw attention," Anders chuckled, and then he leaned into her conspiratorially. "You know, when I joined with Justice I was doing it to help a friend, to expand my knowledge of the universe. I knew it was likely a one way trip. But in the back of my head I figured, meh, maybe I can get out of it, maybe there is a way to reverse things."

Aeryn nodded and started stroking his hand with her thumb, "I know, you did the right thing…"

"And it has only led to more death and suffering." He groaned. "I mean maybe it was necessary…."

Aeryn's face froze.

"But it still _feels _wrong. I was prepared to pay for what I did, just so mage's can experience freedom, the same freedom they," His eyes fluttered over to a blond walking through the library with a staff plastered to her back, "the same ones they have here. Though hopefully they do not make Tevinter's mistakes."

Aeryn shrugged. "Mistakes are hard to avoid, and you do not realize you are making them till they happen."

Anders nodded and then leaned back over the table flipping to another scroll. His eyes darted over the page.

Aeryn picked out another one, _Maker's breath, the taste of wild herbs in winter, where do they get this stuff?_

She was beginning to think the answers to these problems didn't exist.

Suddenly she started chuckling, Anders glanced to her arching a blond eyebrow.

"Not really funny," Aeryn admitted, "When I think about it. But…I just wonder if this is a cycle. If back thousands of years ago mundanes ruled over mages and locked them up and feared them so the mages rebelled against their rule and formed…well probably the Tevinter Imperium. Then Andraste, and especially the Templars come along and wreak havoc so now mage's are wanting to rebel and some of them are even wanting to take over and lord it over Thedas."

"Not all." Anders snapped.

"Did I say all? No. Not all. And I am not going to make the Templar argument that one bad apple justifies…everything they do. It is the individual who is important, just it seems to me people react to slavery in unpredictable ways…look at Fenris."

"Yes, I noticed," Anders murmured.

"Fear and power, it's a constant struggle. People fear things, or they just want power, and they often believe to control their fear they have to control the things they fear. And thus they become more powerful, and more greedy, to justify their fear."

"There has to be a better way."

"Of course there is." She grinned. "Merrill proves there is. Bethany proves there is. You…even proves there is."

"Me?" He chuckled. "And Merrill?"

"The point," She said cutting through his mirth, "not to rule, but maybe the best thing is to let people just _live_."

He chuckled, "You are right my love, but I fear we are a long way from that point."

"Not so long." She hoped.

He once more went back to his manuscript flipping it over and running a finger along the line. If there was a solution to this problem then it would be found only by careful examination, _so Anders obviously thinks._

She went to join him back working through the transcript's when her stomach lurched painfully.

"That's sit!" She snapped. "I need food. I'm going to lunch. You can join me or stay with these nice…dusty…books."

Anders sighed, "I suppose I could enjoy a bite to eat myself Aeryn." He said moving to join her.

"Good," She put her arm through his.

And they both started almost _skipping_ out the door. Drawing curious looks and frowns of disapproval as they left towards the outside of Tevinter.

To find food.

_Yes, food_.


	7. The Battle Where they Meet

_The Tevinter Imperium_

Malcolme Cousland walked down a long boulevard in the middle of the Imperium. Buildings towered on either side of him, and once more the Architect was walking close in next to him, though shrouded. The more Malcolme experienced the trick the more he was envious and wanted a piece of it. The sun was high in the sky for the midafternoon, beaming down on the people below, as they took the long, leisurely stroll back to the livery and stables to rent a horse, or a cab, to take them back to the Grey Warden outpost.

_I've always wanted to visit the Imperium, but now I just can't wait to go_. Malcolme thought.

Back in his noble days he was fascinated by stories of Tevinter. A land supposedly ruled by mages and under the corruption of the so called 'black divine'. _Were the stories right? Were they wild imaginings? And how different would the land be if the stories were right? _ After all the court in Highever seemed to be, on occasion, a dreadfully dreary place, and to the young nobleman magic would only serve to spruce the place up a bit.

He never quite feared magic the way most people were, all the Chantry was able to do to him after decades of droning on about the subject was convince him to be leery of anyone with any magical talents. He chuckled ruefully, _Morrigan and Wynne certainly banished any of those notions_.

But yet the Imperium didn't feel quite right. It felt oppressive, the air felt a little thick, the people felt a little on the vacant side. This was a land who seemed to be on the perpetual edge of teetering off into complete darkness.

_Or extinction_. Malcolme thought remembering the Qunari threat, and how that would affect their moods.

_I am sure there are good people here, good magisters, Augustus proves there is if nothing else_, _but would they be enough to stem the tide_.

On that, Malcolme wasn't sure.

Quite suddenly a man appeared, blocking their path, staff already drawn, and already it was glowing a menacing violet color.

Malcolme felt his fine instincts begin to kick in, his muscles clenched, he was almost ready to fling himself on top of if he needed to and join in battle.

"Good sir," He called out, _but I doubt those tattoos make him a good sir,_ "why do you block our path? We have no quarrel with you."

"Hah, you may not, but I have one with you, Commander of the Gray."

Malcolme knitted his eyebrows together in practiced confusion, "I am not a Gray Warden, and nor have I ever met one."

The man chuckled, "Perhaps now, but you _are_ the hero of Ferelden, the slayer of the Old God who fell and caused the Blight…and since you entered the city I and my people have been watching you. You, and that strange creature who has been following you."

Malcolme glanced over at the Architect's position, where he was hovering, and the man's eyes followed him and he positively beamed.

"Not only your existence, but what you have been studying." He continued as if in the same breath. "You are looking up locations on the remaining Old Gods, so finally, after centuries, the Gray Wardens have finally decided to hunt the rest of them down. To kill them before they start another Blight."

"Only if it's absolutely necessary," Malcolme dropped all pretense, his hand flexing over to his bow. "But I hope there is another way. I do not want to kill anyone, not even the Old Gods."

"But I cannot give you the opportunity even if you are honest," he said his hand suddenly started to glow and Malcolme felt the familiar crackle of magical energy around him.

He drew his bow and fired, the arrow burst in midair far away from the target. The Architect decloaked and swarmed in shooting energy bolts of his own at the target. He absorbed the shots in a magical shield and flung fireball after fireball at him, they exploded, Malcolme dove to the side just barely avoiding the hail fire.

His bow came up, an arrow went to string, and he started firing once again.

_Somewhere else in the Market._

Aeryn and Anders were slurping at some Tevinter delicacy they just bought in one of the local markets, she grinned as some of the nuts stuck to her face and she couldn't quite get them off, but the look on Anders's face mad everything all the better.

Despite their problems there were _no_ problems. Just the two of them doing normal couple things, enjoying food together, without justice or anyone else bothering them.

"You look manly like that my love," Anders grinned at her, "yet you seem to pull it off."

"Gee thanks babe…you are aware I can shoot you at fifty paces, through the head?"

"And you are aware I am a crazy and spooky abomination that can fry people at seventy paces?"

Aeryn arched an eyebrow, "I thought we were trying to avoid bringing that subject up?"

Anders sighed, "I was trying to be…funny."

"Well done."

The look of pain which crossed his face was utterly heart wrenching though _adorable_ Aeryn just wanted to eat him up, and she leaned in for a kiss.

"There there babe…it will be…alright-" her head jerked around swiveling to see a crowd rushing at her. Some of them were screaming. "Wait, what's that?"

That is when they heard the first few explosions. The crackle of fire, sounding similar to when Anders cast one of his fire ball spells.

Aeryn sighed.

"Come on," She said, "let's go see what that is about."

"Aeryn?!"

"It's been a while since I've shot something," She grinned, her bravado hit a brick wall, she shrugged, "_someone_ is in trouble. We can help them."

"Do we want to really get involved?"

"We'll be careful."

"Right."

They ran through the crowd to the sounds of battle in the distance, making their way quickly down the boulevard, some of them gawking at them as they went. But Aeryn Hawke wasn't worried, she knew what she had to do, knew that if these people weren't getting involved then they were not a threat themselves.

Aeryn spun and ran down a side street just before where she _thought _the battle was. Trying to find a building where they could oversee the battle. Some vantage point where they could gauge the situation.

She leapt up a ladder before her and walked quickly, balancing herself as she made her way up the stone way. The top of the building was level, but there were stone spades sticking up, providing her with perfect cover.

She glanced over it and saw a bearded man firing his bow into the midst of a fire shield, the shaft bounced off harmlessly, and the mage flung a fireball back whipping his staff around. It exploded, but the warrior stayed on its feet, nocking another arrow to his string.

Another mage came up along the Bow wielders left and flung his own bolts of magic into the mage.

_I think we know who is responsible_.

"I think I recognize the people on the left."

"Yeah, they looked like they weren't the ones who started the fight, get down there, I'll start lobbying arrows…hurry."

…

The Warden Commander of Ferelden was worried. He didn't know how much longer he could last against the assault. His training and his long years of experience in the Blight made him a good match for the Magister, but only an even match, even with the Architect.

_So what will run out first, my stamina or his mana?_

That is usually how it worked here. It came down to who could lift their blade, fire their arrow, or cast their spells the longest and most effectively. If you weren't strong enough to deal with your opponent in one strike it became a battle of attrition. Whoever ran out first, or dealt with their lack of poultices, would fail. Unless something tipped the scales.

A blast of lightning crackling into the mage's shields, may've been just the thing.

_That wasn't the Architect_.

Malcolme pivoted around on his foot turning, his hand going to one of his swords stapled to his back. He didn't know if the target was a new friend or foe, he wasn't taking any chances, but the blond with an intricate staff somehow looked familiar with him.

It took a second for it to click. "Anders?" Malcolme gaped.

"Yes, it is just little old me."

"Wait, you are…I know what you did." He drew his sword, holding the bow low, twirling the blade in his hand, and holding it threateningly at Anders's throat.

Anders shot him a disgusted look, "I came to save you, to fight with you my old friend, and this is how you treat me."

"We were never friends."

"Still, I think you have bigger fish to fry then I." Anders turned to look behind Malcolme.

Malcolme heard a hiss behind him.

He turned too as the Magister raised off the ground, leaning on his staff, then brining into a guard position.

"I see you have brought in reinforcements Warden Commander." The Mage hissed. "Well, I have friends of my own."

He pulled off an intricate movement with his staff rolling it through the air whipping it around. He finished by dropping his staff, a wave of energy reached up and races along his body as he clenched his fingers to one side pulling them up.

Instantly hands reached up and slashed through the Earth around him, _skeletal hands._

"Maker's Breath!" Macolme exclaimed, "We are on a bunch of corpses?"

"This is nothing, you should see Kirkwall sometime."

"Or the Brecilian Forest." Malcolme muttered, trading his bow out for his two swords.

"It's alright, we still have friends of ours too." Anders said cockily, Malcolme shot him a look.

Suddenly a flaming bolt shot through the air and connected with the chest of the lead skeleton knocking him back. Malcolme looked and saw a black haired woman towering over the battlefield on a small tower. Her bow was already back into action sending a new bolt flinging through the air.

Her aim was impeccable, and so was her bow work, as one arrow after another followed it in, slashing and thinning the ranks of skeletons, the Magister did not know which threat to engage first.

Malcolme allowed him to make up his mind, charging into the fray both swords flashing in the light.

Ducking below a slash from one of the undead he stabbed with his hand, connecting with the stomach, impaling him and driving him off the ground. The other blade came up and slashed across the thing's neck, his skull flew off landing with a dull thus and rolling away in the dirt.

Two more skeletons rushed up to meet him. He bought both pommels down in response slamming them into the things shoulders and driving them to the dirt. He slashed out with them lashing across their heads breaking their skulls into bits.

Another two Skeletons joined the pile.

To his left a rush of wind caught his attention. The group of Skeleton's rushed in, swords dull, but being waved around menacingly.

The first two took an arrow hit, to their heads, the same arrow, their heads sparked, and they fell into the dirt. Fire and lightning raced through the rest knocking them to the ground, they crackled, and broke apart under the onslaught, some even exploded.

The path to the magister was growing ever clearer.

…

Aeryn knocked down skeleton after skeleton, drawing her bow up, and firing it into the crowded mass.

_That is the thing about the undead, they sort of seem to just stand there waiting around for an arrow to be stuck in their heads at extreme range_. She thought with an amused stroke, _but at this rate I will run out of arrows before he runs out of corpses. _

To keep him honest she loosed an arrow at him, it snapped against his magical shield, but it did cause him to spin around on her. _Ha_ _there_.

He responded by flicking a single bolt of flame up at her, she dived out of the way as it propelled ever skyward.

…

Malcolme Cousland slashed at the last skeleton, and then quickly pivoted on his feet, sheathing his sword, and drawing his bow in one fluid motion releasing an arrow as it came up.

All for naught though as the arrow once more slammed into a magical shield, the man swung his staff up grinning sending another jet of flame.

Malcolme dove to the side his back just catching fire as he did. He rolled around snuffing it in the dirt and the debris left by the skeletons.

Anders came up behind him his staff arching bolts of flame at the man's shield, he swung his staff around in a whirlwind windmill absorbing the impacts of the other mage's assault.

The Architect hovered forward, continuing to manipulate and wave his hands around, twisting them around one another releasing several bolts in rapid succession at the enemy. The Mage looked like his defenses were slowly being worn down, especially with Aeryn's arrows raining into the man from his side.

…

Aeryn now could focus her attention on the mage as arrow after arrow flew through the arrow, snapping against his shield, but each one, seemed to her, to do so with greater force and more penetration. The Mage looked as though he were starting to sweat under the assault. She didn't have to redraw her aim, she only had to fire each arrow roughly down the same line.

But she was aware of the battlefield through her subconscious, watching it out of the corner of her eye. Noticing the…_thing_ that started to crawl up behind Malcolme casting its magic. She did not get a good look at it at first, _but now_. It was deformed, seemingly rotted and malformed flesh clung to his face.

"Look out!" She cried, her bow swiveling around.

She saw the Warden Commander glance up at her, his eyes widening as he leapt to _cover_ the creature. Aeryn held her arrow just a fraction before letting it go, her hesitation could have been lethal.

Before she knew it an explosion of flame and sound washed over her, debris caked her as she was thrown to the side hitting her head hard on the stone pavement, a piece of the building was blasted apart, as she noticed, before falling into a haze.

…

Anders followed the sound noticing Aeryn's building, a large chunk of it, be blasted apart, and his love was no longer standing there.

"Aeryn!" He cried out.

Malcolme turned to the Magister and started firing again. He saw Anders make a motion clutching his hand.

Suddenly magical energy raced through him and his limbs were more fluid, free forming. His hand went back up to his bow and he fired, repeatedly. It seemed he could get three arrows, three flaming tips, to one before, he was filled with magical energy.

The Architect and Anders added the fire from their staff and hand to the display, the Magister suddenly confident in his victory had to double his shield and hold it, as some of it chipped off, and he grunted, soon_, but again how soon?_

…

Aeryn Hawke woke with a groan, her eyes fluttering open, she felt light headed, and she felt like there was blood caked onto her face and mouth. Feeling further she was caked in dust, it covered her face, and blurred her vision even though she was gaining her consciousness.

_Why am I on my back? Oh yeah_.

She pushed up with a hand lifting herself off the floor, slowly, looking for her bow, which was scattered a few feet away from her.

Scooping it up she ran an eye over it, the string was still secure, and it looked strong. _Strong enough to fire_.

Her hand went to her back and she felt for her arrows, _one arrow left, have to make this good_.

She rose, her arrow nocking to the bow in short order. Holding the bow out, as she moved slowly, not wishing to draw attention to herself.

When she crested the boundary she came up, drew on her target quickly, and fired.

The arrow flew through the air on a perfectly straight line, a line which was now out of the way of his shield. His shield was beginning absorbed in fighting Malcolme and Anders and _that thing_. Aeryn hissed.

The tip slammed through the folds of flesh around his neck. The Magister gasped, gurgled, coughed. He fell, first on his knees, then collapsed onto his side in the dirt. His eyes, now lifeless, staring forward.

Aeryn grunted her satisfaction, then leapt off the building to join the rest of the company at the floor.

…

Anders, Aeryn, Malcolme, and the Architect met in an intersection near the battle. Her bow was still drawn even though she had no arrows left in her quiver. But they needed to defend themselves in case something happened. Malcolme and Anders doing much the game, in case there was any Magister's, bounty hunters, or anything else before them.

_That thing_ looked totally and completely calm, Aeryn decided, with a shiver. _Which makes one of us._

"So, I assume, if you are Anders, then you are Aeryn Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall?" Malcolme broke the silence, asking.

"Yes, I am." Aeryn stated.

Malcolme nodded, and sighed, "I thank you, but this still puts us in a delicate position. You two are wanted by the Chantry, all the chantries, and Templar authorities, throughout Thedas."

"Oh for the love of the Maker-" Anders spluttered next to her.

"You could say you keep your own odd bedfellows Malcolme Cousland," Aeryn said gesturing at the Architect with one hand.

The Architect and Malcolme chuckled.

"Alright," Malcolme nodded, "I recognize that, and that we can't exactly arrest you here. We should probably join forces, at least for now, seems someone here has taken a great deal of interest in us."

"And." The Architect said coming into the conversation, leaning in, "We probably shouldn't talk here, and we are drawing attention."

Malcolme looked around and saw a few passersby look around at them, the street was beginning to fill once again.

"So they are," He announced. "Come, let's go." He said.

Aeryn and Anders followed in his wake, having no choice but to trust him, and hope they led them through the day.


	8. Begginings and Partings

_Tevinter- Pub Along the Imperial Highway_

The flight from the Tevinter Capitol had taken them most of the day. The Warden, for his part, wanted to leave before word of the attack spread and reached the rest of the Magisters' ears. The implications for him, and the Order, was not one to contemplate too seriously. They could be arrested, thrown in jail, or made an example of, and this could worsen relations between the Imperium and their protectors from the Darkspawn.

For Aeryn it was typical. _I always have felt as if I were constantly running away from something_. She did not care about the Magisters or the local authorities _per se_, but once again, in her third nation, she was again a marked woman. Having to flee from someone who hated her.

Malcolme wanted to get back to The Warden outpost and warn them, plus start their mission.

Aeryn wanted to find help for her love, but that seemed less and less likely all the time.

But yet, after five hours of hard travel, here they were, at the first major interchange along the Imperial Highway leading out of the Capitol.

The place was dim lit, musky, and a bit smokey from the cooking fire roaring in the background. But it was also nearly empty in the middle of the Tevinter night, all the workers were either asleep or on their way back home leaving this place far behind.

In fact, they were the largest group in there, the other occupants looking like blurred shadows in the night.

"So, you are the Champion of Kirkwall," Malcolme growled into his sifter.

Aeryn lifted her eyebrow at him, "let me guess, you expected I would be taller?"

"No," Malcolme grinned mischievously, "Just…prettier. Red hair, wider in the shoulders, strong, imposing, but in the way of the legends of old where any man would fall all over themselves to bed you."

Anders stiffened at her side but she snorted, and then laughed heartily. "And I expected someone who did not look like a hawk nosed noble, just that odd mixture of haughtiness and pure ugliness."

Malcolme grinned, "Good to meet you Aeryn Hawke."

"Likewise." She nodded, but her eyes fluttered over to her boyfriend who was still quite stiff. "I take it you have met Anders before? By your reaction in the battle?"

Malcolme nodded, looked between them, and paused for a lone while. _As if he is trying to size us up_, Aeryn thought.

_I hope this does not come back to bite me in the backside I would hope to survive this without an arrow in my knee or other more important body parts._ Malcolme thought taking a bite out of his dry bacon.

"He met me at Vigil's Keep, he handed me over to the Templars." Anders growled ending the conversation right then and there.

Aeryn raised her eyebrow at Malcolme.

"It is true," he admitted, "when I went to Vigil's Keep the first time it was under attack by the Darkspawn and the first Disciple we ran into. It was a tight match and we found Anders. He was an apostate mage on the run by that time, a Templar came with King Alistair, and I handed him over to them."

Aeryn normally didn't normally take an instant disliking to someone, and she didn't want to in this case, because she had so far gotten along with Malcolme Cousland and thought they had a similar sense of humor, but it was hard with this latest revelation.

"Why?" She asked.

Malcolme frowned. "It was…complicated. It was my first day on the job as Warden Commander, the first action of the newly appointed Warden Commander of Ferelden, in charge of all the Warden's in the country…who were banished for making politically dubious choices. And while we saved the country from the Blight I did not think it would be wise to test the goodwill, and test the Chantry authority and that of the Templars. It was a political decision. But…he also annoyed me a bit."

The feeling of dislike spiked considerably.

Malcolme gave a sheepish embarrassed grin and scratched at the back of his head, "Of course, now I realize I made a mistake…well maybe…after all he _did_ blow up a Chantry." Malcolme frowned, and sighed. "But I was trying to do the right thing in the midst of political chaos. If I had to do it over again I would choose differently. I was trying my hands at politics when now I just think 'ah to hell with it and do the right thing.' It was a hard lesson, and one I occasionally need to be reminded of." He thought darkly thinking of the First Warden.

"Well for my part," Anders uttered suddenly, "there is no real hard feelings. I escaped again found my way into the Warden's anyways, and it all worked out for better, and worse, in the end. I do not blame you, and can…understand your position." At the last he winced. It was small so only Aeryn probably noticed it.

The small group descended into an awkward silence, bending over their now colder food. And their now staler ale.

Malcolme kept taking furtive glances at them, and Aeryn blinked back at him.

_Clearly he has something on his mind_.

"What were you both doing in Tevinter?" He finally said after taking the last bite of bacon. "I mean, I know you are hunted by the Chantry, I know you are not exactly popular…but surely there are better places to go into exile for a runaway famous apostate." He grinned. "Antiva, Rivain, almost anywhere really…why Tevinter?"

"You'd really think Antiva or Rivain would be better than the Tevinter Imperium?" Aeryn remarked casually.

Malcolme shot her a look.

It was now Anders and Aeryn's turn to trade looks with one another. Thinking roughly the same thing. _Do we trust him? After all he is a Grey Warden, and we have fought with each other, spilled blood, but who knows how he will react?_ They had just met the man after all.

"It is because of me." Anders said.

"Yes, I imagine it is because of you," Malcolme Cousland deadpanned.

"No," Anders sighed. "Not _me_, the other me."

"The…other you?" Malcolme asked.

"Yes, we've actually met before Malcolme Cousland, in the Blackmarsh….well in the Fade. But the Fade version of the Blackmarsh, you were sent there by powerful magic, and I was sent to your world by much the same process." Anders's voice had taken on an odd echo to it.

Malcolme went bug eyed and his hand started to twitch, "You aren't…you are an abomination aren't you?"

"Well, that is one way of looking at it." Anders smiled lightly leaning back in his chair.

"Wait a second…Justice…that isn't you is it? How did you meet Justice?"

"I became a Warden and went through my Joining while you were off taking your victory tour initially and going to report in to the First Warden of Weishaupt. And then when you came back you of course went to look for the Witch of the Wild Morrigan. It gave me plenty of time to go through my joining, your Lieutenant and the current Arl of Amaranthine Nathaniel Howe had plenty of time to conduct my joining, my training, invoke the Right of Conscription and I had plenty of time to grow tired of it by the time you returned to retake Command of the Wardens for your other brief stay."

"And Justice?" Malcolme asked.

Even Aeryn listened with rapt attention, this was the first time even she had heard the full story of them meeting and Anders's subsequent choice.

"Justice and I became good friends. He was trapped in Kristoff's decaying body, but he was fascinated in the mage's plight, a bit too fascinated. Even got my dander up a bit. But then he wanted to move on, didn't want to live in a decaying body which might fail him, so I agreed to take him on, I just wanted to help a friend, and together we might be able to solve our mutual problem…shortly after we left the Wardens and journeyed to Kirkwall."

"Wow," Malcolme blinked and then his eyes went very wide, "Wait, he wasn't the reason you blew up the Chantry is it?"

"I made the choice," Anders snapped, then sighed, "But yes, I suppose he helped."

And that statement ringed hollowly in the air of the pub, Aeryn glanced around the room seeing if anyone was listening, seeing what they would do about it if they were.

But no one was seeming to even pay them any head, just sipping their drinks, eating their food, or snoozing in their corners. The candles and the flames in the hearth was growing ever smaller.

"And what were you doing in Tevinter anyways oh Warden Commander?" Aeryn asked eyeing him up.

Malcolme shot a look with his traveling companion, it was the first time Aeryn even paid any attention to the creature. He was sitting there with a cloak draped around his body and a hood drawn up rather dramatically over him sipping a concoction of his own volition. Aeryn shivered thinking about what was probably in there.

"We are hunting for information on the whereabouts of the Old Gods. If we can find the location of theirs in the Deep Roads maybe we can prevent the next Blight."

Anders's eyes fluttered over to where the Architect was sitting, "Andraste's dimpled butt cheek!"

A few of their fellow patrons glanced at them, one even woke up and shot them a rude look. Malcolme shot Anders a shushing look.

"So it's true then?" Anders asked.

"What's true?"

"The Warden Commander here has made a deal with the Architect about the Darksapwn, they want to stop the Blight, by working together. It is Coryphaeus all over again."

Aeryn's neck hairs stood up on end and she felt the odd desire to reach for her dagger and scewer the Architect alive.

"If you are talking about the incident in the Vimmark Mountains that is entirely different." Malcolme hissed venmiously, his words being low enough to not be heard around them yet they still sounded dangerous. "That was an Ancient Magister who was out for his own power. The Architect is different."

"We hope." Anders muttered darkly.

"I am surprised you believe the story." Aeryn murmured her eyebrows shooting up.

Malcolme shrugged, "Why not?" He smiled. "I mean after what I have seen, Dragon Cults, Corrupted Old Gods thousands of years old, surviving the Fade not once but twice, I at least always consider extreme possibilities."

Aeryn nodded, "Good man."

The three of them watched the fire slowly start to burn out, until it was on its last embers. Aeryn watched the fire go low, feeling ever more tired as the flames grew lower and lower.

"We need to discuss the future," Malcolme uttered.

Aeryn blinked her eyes the last of her synapses rallying to her defense as she worked through the problem. _Whatever is he talking about? _

"You can come with us, into the Deep Roads. Hunt the Old Gods with me. I need soldiers, manpower, and people. I intend to ask for volunteers both here and back in Ferelden, but I doubt I will get much support. I intend to ask Harrowmont, but I know the Legion of the Dead is not exactly in shape much longer. Nor will we get much support there. It's a fool's errand, probably one which will lead to our deaths, but I think it's worth it, and we may survive, we may even succeed, but the more of us we can gather, the better." Malcolme made his pitch.

Aeryn's eyes widened and she considered it, but as her brain chewed on the problem rather dramatically she felt a wave of tiredness crash into her. She yawned, and blinked her eyes trying one last attempt to clear them.

"We need to think about this." She decided at last.

"Fair enough," Malcolme nodded, "we shall have until the morning, I imagine this place is safe enough for the forseable future. I doubt the blood hounds would track us here, we are safe…for the moment."

Aeryn nodded, "Thank you Malcolme, good night."

"Good night." Malcolme murmured watching her go.

…

Aeryn Hawke was in her night time ware, getting ready for bed, their room, one of only three in the entire building, had just one small bed and one small fire in it, plus a chair and a work station. _It is certainly a lot smaller then my estate in dear old Kirkwall_.

But, it was homely, content, quiet, and intimate. Her estate in Kirkwall often felt too big even though she was sharing it with her Mabari, Anders, Bodahn, and Sandal, it didn't always feel _right_ to her. But this did. _On the road again_.

Anders was laying on the bed, staring at her as she stood near the fire. He was shirtless, and she could feel his eyes watching her ever sinewy movement and just glancing up and down her body.

"Don't go," He suddenly said, pleading, husky, desperate. Trying to control his world.

She sighed, barely audible, "Well you know me Anders I could never resist getting into trouble before."

He sighed beside her.

She turned to him. "This whole Architect thing really bothers you dosen't it?"

He nodded slowly. "It is….different. I have, hard feelings about him, it. I do not trust it. I do not trust him to his words."

"All the more reason for me to go with him." Aeryn argued.

Anders sighed, "Yes, I know."

Aeryn sat down on the bed next to him and patted him on the leg. His body twitched a bit and he shied away from her touch.

"And I'm afraid…I can't go with you my love. Not into the Deep Roads…not with Justice."

Aeryn felt her temper rise and her eyebrows arched with it, she wanted to get up off the bed and kick him a good one. "More blackmail my love?" She hissed.

"No," His eyes widened, "it's not that…in fact I even wonder if we should still be together even if you do not go. I am not sure I can trust myself around you any longer. Justice does not trust me, he does not trust the situation or you. He wants his freedom, from me, and you, if he cannot get me….he will get you. He made me do something terrible, to kill you. If I cannot control it, he has become even bitterer, if that is possible, since the Chantry, I thought I was in control…but I was mistaken.

"If I go to the Deep Roads. I will not be able to help myself. And Justice will hate it. He may not believe I can be much use for the plight of Mages from here on out but I am more useful to him on the surface then crawling around in the deep."

Aeryn nodded, and felt a block form in her throat, she tried to clear it noisily and wipe her eye.

She cleared her throat and turned back to him, "yeah."

He brought up a weak smile, "I hope, Maker willing, we can see each other again…when all this is over. Maker willing. But, we need to say goodbye…so maybe going to the Deep Roads is as good a place as any. Getting away from me and leaving me to my fate in Tevinter."

"But what if the magisters use you? What if they find you?"

"Then hopefully I can stop them, or prevent it from happening. Who knows maybe they can help? But you cannot help me Aeryn. You cannot help Justice. We need to find our own path, and hopefully we can be separated, then I will look for you again. Or…we will meet at the Maker's side. If we are worthy."

She collapsed on the bed next to him. Her fear spiked, his hands went through her hair, but did nothing else. _Seems Justice is at least giving us the night_. Aeryn smiled darkly.

But she planned on making the most of that night.

…

The next morning Aeryn awoke, quickly found breakfast from the innkeeper which she paid for with two silver. She smiled as it came up, and wolfed it down.

Then she followed the Warden Commander and his friend out into the outside world. It was cold, damp, and mossy. All of the things one might expect in the early morning anywhere on the continent.

Anders followed her out the door running to catch up, she wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him down upon her with a quick kiss.

"Goodbye my love," She said, "one last time…we will see each other again. If not now, then later, in a land where no shadows fall."

"Good bye." He murmured back at her, and then waved her off.

"I take it you have decided?" Malcolme Cousland asked as she came up.

She nodded. "I have, and I am coming with you."

"Excellent, come now, we have no time to waste." Malcolme said, snapping to attention and whirling around on her feet.

_Someone is grumpy without their morning coffee_ Aeryn remarked darkly as she followed him to the stables, and then, onto the Imperial Highway.

_Tevinter Grey Warden Outpost_

Malcolme Cousland stood once more in front of the group of Wardens. Except this time he was joined by the Champion of Kirkwall standing behind him, hands folded behind her back as she watched the Wardens in all their glory.

The full group stood before him, Augustus stood in their center facing him.

"I have come to speak to you today," Malcolme said, "on a matter of grave importance to our order."

He let his words wash over the assembled group and cause them to perk up, "I intend to take a group of Wardens into the Deep Roads. Deep into the Deep Roads, to find the prisons of the remaining Old Gods, and either prevent them from turning into Archdemons, or to kill them outright before they can do it."

A murmur rolled through the assembled soldiers, some glanced at each other and some of them started shooting whispers at them. Malcolme let them talk for a minute. _No good would come from interrupting them in their deliberation_s.

But, he underestimated exactly how long it would take them to finish said deliberations.

"I will ask for volunteers. We will meet back here within two hours." He finally said as the conversation finally died down.

"Yes Warden Commander," the group choursed at him.

"Yes Warden Commander," Augustus murmured, shooting him a dark look, and clutching his staff ever more tightly.

The group dispersed, back to their barracks and their…further deliberations.

"That went well," Aeryn whispered in his ear leaning over to him.

Malcolme nodded, "Indeed."

The hours passed quickly until once again they were outside gathered in front of the outpost.

"Well, any volunteers?" Malcolme asked them.

Some of the Wardens looked at each other, and slowly nodded as they came through at stepped in front of Augustus.

Seven of them.

_Seven Wardens…Plus Aeryn…it's a start, more actual Grey Wardens then I had against the Blight and around the same I had for the Mother. So, maybe this will work out. _

Augustus was not among them though, and he was showing them once more a sad look.

"How many of you are on your Calling?" Malcolme asked.

"I am," One of them responded, an elderly warrior.

"Me too," A female rogue with crystal white hair responded next in line.

"Good, let's go then." He said.

The nine warriors mounted their group of horses, with their travel bags, and bed spreads. The group reached the Imperial Highway and turned south. Heading for Ferelden, where hopefully they could add to their numbers.

And onto further adventure.


	9. Arrival at Vigil's Keep

_Vigil's Keep_

Malcolme Cousland's horse reared up on its hind legs and snorted rather dramatically as they were rounding the corner up into the thoroughfare outside the main gate. Aeryn and her horse looked at the both of them with curious glances of derision.

"What?" Malcolme asked…them?

"Oh nothing," Aeryn shook her head sadly, the horse imitating the expression with surprising synchronicity.

It was dark out as they were approaching the keep, the gates were closed.

But, a voice pierced out through the darkness, "who goes there?"

Malcolme twisted his head to look up at the fortress walls, as Aeryn placed the hood about her face blocking her features from view. At least temprorarily.

Malcolme glanced back at her movements before answering, "Malcolme Cousland, Warden Commander of Ferelden, at least I still was officially last time I checked."

A dull metal crash sounded as something must have hit the concrete floor beyond the wall. Someone cursed at their misfortune, and it was still a moment before they could gather themselves.

"W-Warden Commander…sir?" He asked. "It's been…m-months sir."

"I know," Malcolme murmured, "Did you really think I would be gone forever? After all if an Archdemon couldn't kill me then what could? It would take a lot I can tell you that right now."

"Y-yes…sir?" The soldier hissed, fully coming into view.

Aeryn recognized the silver armor shining in the candle and the moonlight of the famous Silver Order. One of Ferelden's greatest military orders. One of the people's best protectors, and, perhaps most importantly of all, the largest and best force of Warden Support troops this side of the Orlesian Cheveliars.

They were heavily armored, and well-armed, the idea was they could cut through a Darkspawn and not have their skin touched by the tainted blood. Though, in the end of the day they were pretty well trained, and could be deployed. There were few Wardens even in Ferelden, but the Silver Order gave them options. Options they may not have had otherwise. Options to where a single group would not be all that would stand between Ferleden and destruction in the event of a Blight.

All of this flashed through Aeryn's mind as Malcolme had the gate open, it started to open with a grinding roaring creek sounding down the path, like a dragon yell in the night.

Malcolme led the way, it was just her and Aeryn.

Nathaniel Howe was standing there, Aeryn frowned.

"You know," The Cousland spoke to her making her jump in her seat, "you don't have to wear that silly thing if you don't want to. You are safe here. For now anyways."

She hissed back at him, "I am a wanted woman, and despite wearing the armor I am not officially a Grey Warden, I have not gone through the Right of Conscription, not my 'joining' whatever that entails."

"No," Malcolme groused, "but you are under the protection of the Warden Commander of Ferelden. They are my troops. They are my people. They will do what I say, or I shall have them killed, it's as simple as that."

"You wouldn't," She laughed, _but I do feel better_.

"Probably not, but I hope not to find out, but you can't wear that hood forever we will likely be a few days."

Sighing she relented ripping the hood from her black haired head. Most of the people around her did not make any overt reactions. Aside from Nathaniel Howe who took the opportunity to glance at her, arched an eyebrow, but continued on his path approaching Malcolme's horse.

"Welcome back to Ferelden, my old friend."

Malcolme leapt off his horse and clasped the offered hand. "It's good to be back Nathaniel." He said with a grin and a quiver of his beard.

He turned around and gestured to his traveling companion, "And this is Aeryn Hawke, the Champion of…"

"Yes, we've met before, dear Champion of Kirkwall." Nathaniel said smiling thinly.

Her name roiled up the crowd and the bits of the crowd which had heard her. Soon they everyone was talking about it and whispering back and forth between themselves. The ones who did not hear were being filled in by the ones who did. The ones who did not understand, had it explained to them by the ones who did.

Aeryn felt bits of the crows become increasingly hostile towards her, the chatter took on the buzz of some angry bees of her youth, but the rest of them were merely curious about her existence.

"Hmm, so the Champion of Kirkwall eh? I didn't expect her to have such a great rack." A voice drawled from the midst of the crowd.

Aeryn flushed quickly, and the crowd had to simultaneously stifle a laugh. Some with more success than others. Even though they had to know the owner of the voice they looked around for the culprit wildly.

"She is under my protection Oghren," Malcolme snorted, "And she can shoot the red beard off of you at a hundred paces."

"Oh," A diminutive red mustachioed and bearded dwarf emerged from the line and looked Aeryn up and down Aeryn appreciatively, "you know I have never met a challenge I didn't like."

"Oh Oghren," Malcolme sighed.

Aeryn looked down at him, a mixture of a smirk and vicious scowl playing across her face.

"I imagine you got a sodding great pair of buns too." Oghren spat eyeing her.

"Now now, you know what they say…Oghren was it?" The Dwarf nodded, "Careful what you wish for…you just might get it."

The Dwarf scowled his beard drooping dramatically. "Sod it, you humans aren't any fun."

Aeryn snickered as the Dwarf fell back into formation, a man and a woman of the Silver Order tried to contain their glee behind neutral expressions.

"So, Nathaniel, how goes it?" Malcolme asked making sure to raise his voice so his people, ostensibly his people, could hear.

"It goes well Malcolme, we have trained upwards of fifty Wardens, with several more about to go through their Joining. Plus with several of the Silver Order, we have a hard time keeping this place…not full. We've actually had to start expanding the Keep's facilities, as well as station some people throughout the Arling."

Malcolme grinned, "Good man, and good job, I knew you were the right man for the job and you seemingly have gotten things well in hand here."

"Yes, coming to take back your command sir? Let me go off and be the Arl?"

Malcolme's grin faltered for just a split second, "No, actually, long story."

Nathaniel raised his eyebrow but continued on before the silence could become too pronounced, "I hope to extend my operations and post patrols in a few other areas, Orzamaar, Redcliffe, Denerim. I know the Wardens traditionally wait for a Blight to occur and then begin mobilizing against it but I figure a few patrols couldn't hurt. Especially of the Silver Order. One or the other can find recruits to join our cause, both here, and for the Wardens."

"Hmm, any reports of Darkspawn?" He asked.

It was Nathaniel's turn for his grin to falter, "None in the Arling certainly, but you hear…occasional reports of instability in the Wilds and near the gates to Orzamaar. Why I want to send in patrols. But, we haven't been able to. A caravan goes missing, a dead Darskpawn just shows up in the midst of ruins. Not as bad as the Blight or when the Mother was causing problems but enough to have me…concerned."

Malcolme nodded.

Nathaniel plowed on, "It was easier during the Blight and the Civil War in some respects. The Blight had barely started and the Darkspawn were gathering their forces tightly to engage us. The Arling represented a small geographic area, but having to cover _all_ of Ferelden from entirely random raids, is a lot more difficult. Sure, the damage might be smaller, but they are harder to stop."

"But you can stop it?" Malcolme asked.

He nodded, "eventually, using my forces and coordinating with the Crown and the local Bann's, I imagine so."

Malcome nodded again.

The Junior Howe took the opportunity to, finally, make his next grand gesture. "I imagine your trip has been a long one, through the lands of Thedas, come to my throne room, I can offer you drinks, refreshment, and to catch up."

"That sounds…perfect." Malcolme allowed, they both knew what the offer really signified.

"Troops, dismissed! Fall out by sections!" The Senechel barked.

Marching boot steps and the grinds of armor followed Aeryn and company into the throne room as they marched back to their barracks.

The throne room was warm, inviting, rich, _noble_. Aeyn couldn't help but gawke as she was ushered in. Fires and torches blazed along the walls making the temperature markedly warmer than the cool air outside. But, the temperature was not oppressive, merely…comfortable. Like the warm pair of shoes and her finery back in dear old Kirkwall.

The room was sturdy and strong, a central throne dominated its center, but for all its vast appearance it did not look like it gotten used very often. And, even though the room could possibly hold dozens of soldiers, commanders, advisors, well-wishers, and dithering nobles, they were the only ones in there at present.

Aeryn felt distinctly out of place. Despite now wearing the armor of a Grey Warden, she wasn't one. _I am not sure I belong here, not sure I understand_. As if Malcome Cousland and Nathaniel Howe barely paid her any attention as they started their deliberations.

_I'm bored_.

"Aeryn Hawke," Nathaniel Howe suddenly stated looking up at her, "Can I interest you in some fine Ferelden Mead?"

Aeryn blinked, but slowly a grin spread across her face, "Sure, it sounds great."

She came over at the implied invitation and joined them at the map of Thedas. Nathaniel lightly poured her a mug of mead, and she started sipping it, enjoying the fragrance and taste, _again a sample from my long forgotten youth_.

Nathaniel glanced at her for a second. "I figure since you are a part of the Warden's company, you are important, and need to be treated with respect. Plus, I do owe you one."

She nodded grateful.

"But, I am curious to hear why the two of you are traveling alone through Ferelden?" He continued.

"Actually," Malcolme cut in, "we aren't I have a full company of Warden's…well ok a small group…encamped on the edge of the Arling."

Nathaniel's eyes arched.

And so Malcolme filled him in on the story. All of it. From the beginning with his meeting with the First Warden, to everything else and his plans, revelations, and the meeting of Malcolme, Aeryn, and Anders. And Malecolme's plans for dealing with the Old Gods, their locations, followed by a jabbing of the map. A lot of this even Aeryn hadn't heard, and now, they were going long into the night, at least a few hours.

It took so long the lights from the torches mounted in their sockets started to grow low, and the fire was burning down to its last embers.

Finally he reached the end, and Nathaniel's eyes were narrowed down into slits, "You are quite insane my friend," suddenly though he grinned warmly, "but, I suppose to defeat the Blight everyone would be a little insane."

Malcolme chuckled, "Indeed."

Nathaniel frowned, poured himself another mug, and started to sip from it delicately. "Still, you can have them, volunteers only, but I do feel uncomfortable. Even though I am better off than say, Tevinter, I am not well enough off though to where I am comfortable in safeguarding Ferelden from another Blight."

Malcolme grinned, "Come now, you said earlier that guarding the world from the Blight is relatively _easy_. It's the guarding from the Raiders which is the hard part."

Nathaniel matched Malcolme's expression, "sure, but then I still need the soldiers…like I said, whatever the First Warden says I agree with you…in part. And you are still officially the Warden Commander for a while anyways, I imagine this will change once and for all and permenantly."

"I know," Malcolme agreed, "And thank you, no matter what officially comes in, you have been more the Warden Commander here then I am…but I need the troops. Just as much."

He nodded, "I know, and as I said, if you can stop the Old Gods, it's worth it."

"Really," Aeryn blurted, "most people we talk to thinks we are utterly nuts." She glanced between the two of them. "So I gather anyways, so I have heard through the story. I mean…it sounds nuts."

"And it is nuts, hunting for Old Gods through thousands of Darkspawn, but if anyone can do it then the Warden Commander of Ferelden can. Still, keep safe." He said. "Do not push this, if you cannot do it, then return, we'll be waiting."

"The life of a Warden is never a safe one." Malcolme said. "So I cannot make any promises, but I will try my best."

Nathaniel nodded.

"In the meantime my troops need quartering, at least for a while, and to take on provisions and supplies if you can spare them."

"We can, as well as anyone else who will be leaving with you," Nathaniel acknowledged.

"I know, and thank you…but let's get to it."

"Let's," Nathaniel agreed.

The three of them left and went to their immediate activities.

Soon the rest of the Wardens from Tevinter had arrived. Without any real quarters for them they had to sleep in the center of the Keep. The center of the aisle right in front of the trade quarters.

But after picking their spots, most of them, got right back to work. Getting out duffels and stockpiles of food. Putting simple grains into baskets and barrels which could be planted on the back of their horses, or along drawn carts. Their warriors were getting ready for a long campaign in the middle of the Dark. Despite Ferelden being a small country Orzamaar was still a long distance from Amaranthine, and who knew how long it would be before they could get resupplied from the surface.

Malcolme met with several of the company leaders of the Silver Order and the Warden Lieutenants, going over his plans, and the maps and discussing strategy.

Here, far to the South of the Anderfels, the Ferelden Order could discuss openly. And while several of his compatriots were quite skeptical about his intentions, a lot of them were also eager. _But were they eager enough? _After all they were doing a lot of danger going into the dark of the Deep Roads.

For a week they stayed, not just to gather supplies, but to think, consider, and give people a last chance to change their minds or a last chance to enjoy the sun should they be committed, and the vast majority of them were. Only one of the Tevinter Warden's chickened out in the end.

In the end though, as the long train of Horses and Oxen left through the front door of Vigil's Keep. They were joined by fifteen other Warden's, and even two of the Silver Order decided to join up with them.

Now wearing their lighter under leather armor, their main armor wrapped up in pallets rolling behind them.

Oghren was riding next to Aeryn.

"So, heh heh, a nice romantic jaunt through the old plains of Ferelden eh?"

"What, I didn't see any Darkspawn near us?"

Oghren grumbled for a bit, before he could work out the insult Aeryn clicked her heals into her horse sending it careening up to the front, to join Malcolme and the most senior members of the Order.

"Aeryn Hawke," He said greeting her, "enjoying the day?"

"Oh yeah, its gorgeous, the company on the other hand…"

Malcome laughed, "Yeah, Oghren is certainly an acquired taste."

"You've tasted him?" Aeryn asked aping shock.

"Yes, right…" Malcolme's voice trailed off.

"Enjoy the summer air while it lasts," One of the senior Warden's, his hair fully white, said, "We won't have any sun in the Deep."

"I know," Aeryn said sagely, "I've been down there."

"Oh?" The Warden asked his voice cracking with surprise, his eyes sheening with new found respect.

She nodded.

And together, they crossed the line out of site of the Vigil's Keep and left them far behind.


	10. To the Kingdom of the Dwarves

_Orzamaar_

Malcolme Cousland followed two Dwarven Legionaries through the streets of Orzamaar. Or what passed for streets in the Dwarven city. He looked down at the pools and rivers of lava below him, and the heat blasted up at him, causing his forehead to bead in sudden sweat.

The light was blinding but he could not help but marvel at it. This city had stood for thousands of years, built into the heart of a volcano, or at least the lava flows of Thedas. One single eruption or disturbance could have doomed the last of the great Dwarven Thaigs, and thus their species, for eternity.

Yet, here they were, yet nothing of the sort had ever happened. The Dwarves were still here. And they were mining the lava, for heat, for energy, for precious metals. Even for the Lyrium trade of which both the Templars and the Mages relied upon. Though, now that the two sides were on the brink of war, the smuggling operations were running quite rampant.

_Even though Orzamaar has mostly sealed itself from the outside world, oddly enough, _Malcolme thought. _One of the things I intend on asking his Grace._

He was being trapsed through the Diamond Quarter by the two Sword and Shield warriors. They were helmeted, their gait strictly professional, not sparing Malcolme a second glance. Not even bothering to have a chat with him. _How rude._

He was, finally, shown to the Royal Palace. The two guards snapped around, coming to attention just before the door, they nodded and each gestured to the door. This must have been to let Malcolme pass, he did so nodding his thanks to the pair.

The Royal Palace hadn't changed much since his last visit. The same drab blue grays, the same stone construction and the pillars holding up the same roof.

And the same bunch of nobles, peasants, and well-wishers gathered outside the door to the throne room. Waiting to give their respects to the King, or simply to plea to him on the basis of some petty problem.

He moved to at least join the throng, at the door, but was stopped by a squat female dwarf.

"Not that way my lord, the King is in his personal chambers." She squeaked at him.

Malcolme felt an exasperated sigh roll through him, "Lead on." He gestured.

He was shown through a door, and then through the labyrinth of the Royal Palace, till finally they arrived at the back towards the King's personal chambers.

Harrowmont was dressed in a simple robe, being draped across his shoulders and coming down around his knees in a great pool. He looked casual, laid back, the fire burning in the fireplace reflected in his eyes as he stared at it. _Yet he still wears his crown._

He turned at the presence who entered the room, a smile bristled along his features and his beard.

"Malcolme Cousland, it is a pleasure to see you again my old friend."

"King Harrowmont," Malcolme nodded in a half bow to the dwarf. He wanted to keep his tone harsh and let the King know that Malcolme considered his recent actions to be…less then wise. But Malcolme couldn't help it, Harrowmont was his friend, and the one who Malcome had put on the throne.

The King walked backwards and sat in his chair, lounging in it lazily.

"I must admit," He uttered, "I was surprised when a heavily armed company of warriors appeared at the front of our city gates. I was even more surprised when I heard who was leading the company. Of course, it was not much of a threat, we have enough warriors if you wanted to make war upon this Thaig."

Malcolme felt his eyebrow arch, "And I must admit I was saddened at the sight of outside of Orzamar, the great Thaig has been sealed off from the outside world. There are not as many shopkeepers and traders on the road in the Frostbacks as their once was."

"You would criticize the King of the Dwarves?" Harrowmont arched both his eyebrows into the bottom of his crown line.

Malcolme sighed, "I am merely pointing out that your actions are counterproductive. For both my people, and for yours, who we both depend on the other for some of our trade."

"Trade still flows," Harrowmont pointed out, "but we have been limited in the outside influences which can pollute our traditions, cut off from the Surface Dwarves who have lost their stone sense. These actions may not seem wise, but they are consistent with my charge of protecting my people in the wake of Bhelen's rebellion."

"You still having trouble?" Malcolme hissed, his eyebrow once more going skyward.

Harrowmont looked sad, and he shook his head as if to clear the thought. "The popular uprising has been crushed long ago, but you still see some of the Casteless or other sympathizers making occasional war against the crown. The Blight and the Darkspawn provided us with a common enemy, but now only the Legion of the Dead engage the Darkspwn, and with our position secure in Kal'Hirol, most of our people do not feel the heat. It was an important rallying cry for my throne, but it was not enough to unite my people after all."

Malcolme blinked, "I am sorry my lord."

The answering smile was grim, "Our politics must seem so petty to someone of the surface, the actions I take must seem so barbaric, but I am trying to preserve thousands of years of tradition and civilization. We are under constant threat, the Darkspawn threatens constantly. Now is not the time for revolution or great change, especially when we do not know what that change will wrought from Bhelen and his ghost."

Malcolme nodded, just as grim, "I know." He smiled darkly. "Our politics are hardly sane either, I doubt any politics truly is. My own father and mother were butchered by a man we considered a friend, another Arl, for power, and to remove us as a threat to his ambitions. So I do know." His eyes twinkled. "And it is your Kingdom, but, if I were you I would be doing things differently."

Harrowmont nodded slowly one more time. "But," he clapped his hands together one more time, "I doubt you came here to simply discuss Dwarven politics."

_I am getting tired of explaining_, Malcolme thought, taking a deep breath, gathering himself. Then launching into an explanation of what exactly his mission was, and his intentions towards the Old Gods. Harrowmont listened courteously, not interrupting, though occasionally his eyes grew very wide. _And this is just the condensed version_, he finished in just five minutes of explaining.

"Well," Harrowmont murmured, dipping his head, "I cannot exactly refuse a Grey Warden, especially one of such stature, the right to go where they wish. However, there is little support I can give you for your mission. Few in the Warrior Caste are trained to undertake such a bold mission. And with the recent losses the Legion has taken securing Kal'Hirol and in the Darkspawn Civil War and their ever important mission keeping the Hoard at bay, they can be of little assistance."

"I wasn't asking," Malcolme grunted, "just to use your city as our point of entry into the Deep Roads, since it's the most obvious place for our purposes, and maybe to take in supplies."

"You can have them," Harrowmont nodded, but frowned, "Some of them you will have to pay for of course, the regular merchants are feeling quite pressed for Gold. But, my stores I will provide to you free of charge…however, they are not limitless. Finally I will send a message to the Legion warning them to keep an eye out on you and I may be able to provide you a few guides."

Malcolme nodded, "That is all I can ask."

Harrowmont nodded, and the conversation was clearly over. So, he left the room and made his way slowly back to the surface.

_Orzamaar's gates_

Aeryn Hawke watched the gates to Orzamaar with her hawk like gaze. The rest of the Warden's busied themselves behind her, cooking, exercising, practicing, and some of them even lounged about. Their camp was quite impressive given they swarmed around the gates to the Dwarven capitol. Crowding into the small plateu.

"Come on, join the party, the last chance we will have to enjoy that big sky!" Oghren said drunkenly behind her, and then unleashed an unholy belch.

Aeryn crinkled her nose but kept her view straight ahead, "I am waiting for Malcolme to return."

"And how long will that take?" Oghren growled.

"As long as it takes," Aeryn arched her eyebrow as she looked out over the snowcapped mountain. "I'm used to waiting, being on my feet."

"Hmph, what is that supposed to mean?"

Aeryn, finally glanced at the Dwarf, and sniffed, "nothing my good man…Dwarf…thing."

He snorted, she sighed, but was saved from a further onslaught as the doors started to grind open before them. Aeryn peered down, her gaze able to pierce through, her Rogue's gaze, her expert bow gaze, and she saw Malcolme standing at the top of the stairs looking back down at her.

The Noble seemed to grunt to himself, before launching himself at a trot down the steps. Quickly he caught back up to the camp, even in his full Grey Warden Armor.

"Well?" Aeryn asked.

"We have a go." Malcolme said smiling.

"We have a go Commander?" One of the Senior Wardens from Tevinter asked.

"Yep," Malcolme snorted, "I hate to do this to everyone but we need to break camp, head into Orzamar, and take on supplies."

The Senior Warden frowned, "Commander Cousland, if I may."

Malcolme nodded.

"It seems…a waste…to break up the camp now."

"We will have to eventually."

"I know, but why rush it? This may be the last time we see the sun for who knows how long, I suggest we take the supply duty in shifts, and maintain camp here, and then we can cycle people through. Plus there _are_ shops here, and most of us bought some money with us."

Malcolme nodded happily, "Fair enough, let's not break camp then."

Aeryn nodded happily, _I do not mind the Deep Roads but I do not want to rush my descent either._

…

Aeryn Hawke stood outside a shop in the merchant quarter in Orzammar, just outside of the Proving, she unfurled her scroll of Vellum, cleared her throat, and started to dictate to the young Dwarf merchant below her.

"Ahem," She cleared her throat, "We need two bushels of grain, three of wheat, and another five of rye. Plus any fruits and vegetables you can spare." She gulped before the next one. "And at least fifty pounds of nug meat…will that be satisfactory?"

"Twenty Sovereigns." The Dwarf spat.

"Yesterday it was fifteen!" She protested. "And on the surface most of these items wouldn't cost me any more than five!"

"Yesterday I didn't have a group of desperate travelers at my door planning an expedition into the Deep Roads. And this isn't the surface." The Dwarf grinned nastily.

"But we are fighting the Darkspawn! You know, the drooling, barbaric, mortal enemies of your people?"

"Oh is that so? And will your fighting the Darkspawn lesson the taxes we have to pay? Or get more merchants from the surface to trade with us again? Will it open the gates to the outside world and let trade flow freely?"

Aeryn sighed, "Well, maybe."

The Dwarf frowned, "Well, until that happens, and nugs grow wings and start flapping through the air…twenty sovereigns."

_Why you little_, She sighed. "Alright, here you go, you drive a hard bargain." She handed the purse over, and watched the Dwarf count the money like a hawk, making sure that he accounted for every single gold coin.

She turned, hunting down her list for her next area of responsibility, the Dwarf already knew where to deliver the merchandise.

"You handled that well." Malcolme's voice sounded a bit smug at her predicament.

She looked at him and sighed, "Even Hubert didn't drive as hard a bargain as that Dwarf did." She whined.

"Hubert?" Malcolme asked cocking his head in puzzlement.

"Looooonnnng story." Aeryn drawled. "But the point is, I thought I had gotten the knack of this whole barter thing when dealing with the Kirkwall citizens and merchants for the so many years, but that guy made me feel like a lame Mabari."

Malcolme nodded, "I know, it's hardly the 'fine Dwarven crafts' and the others of Bodahn and Sandal…things look desperate here."

She glanced around the place, "Yeah, I know." She said pulling her mouth into a frown.

"But, happily it is not our responsibility. Without a Blight we need not concern ourselves with Dwarven politics."

Aeryn rose her eyebrows, "Weren't you the one who put Harrowmont on the throne in the first place? Do you not have some responsibility in this whole situation?"

Malcolme stiffened, and sighed, "Trust me, Bhelen would have probably been _worse_. I had to deal with the lesser of two evils _at the time_, and Bhelen, by all accounts, betrayed not only his King…which I am not sure I care about too much…but his _kin_. His own father considered Harrowmont the most suitable for the throne, that was my choice…and I'd make it again. Though reluctantly."

Aeryn nodded, "I see."

"But come," Malcolme suddenly grinned, "I think we've gotten all the supplies we need. As soon as they are delivered we can go down into the Deep."

Aeryn smiled wanly, "Fun."

And so, they prepared to say their final goodbye to the sun. The rather large group of Wardens joined with their guides, and eventually met with some in the Legion of the Dead. As they slowly went into the Deep, of the Deep Roads. Where no sun shines.


	11. Into the Deep

_The Deep Roads_

An arrow slashed through the air and embedded itself into a Darkspawn's head, splitting it open, its black blood sizzled and spurted from the wound.

Aeryn took a moment's grim satisfaction as she nocked another arrow and fired it. Yet another arrow billowed around her as she knew Malcolme had also fired from his specifically crafted long bow.

The rest of the Grey Wardens around her howled and yelled furiously as they dove into battle. Their swords and staff's out. One mage slashed across a Darkspawn's belly with a blade mounted on the end of his staff, then slammed it into the wound causing the Genlock to double over.

Hurlock archers began taking up positions at the other end of the battlefield, they were on a slight overhang, threatening to rain fire down on the group of Wardens.

Aeryn traded a look with a mage who nodded at her.

She brought her bow up feeling the magic flowing through her body. Her actions went into hyper drive, her senses were razor sharp in their focus. Arrow after arrow after arrow flew through the air ripping large holes in the Darkspawn formation, two per Hurlock. Eventually they had to retreat without firing a single shot.

"Wardens to me!" Malcolme shouted.

His two blades were now out and he slashed them across the line of Genlocks in his way. He parried a Hurlock great sword high, then twisted his sword around slashing it across the things waist. It roared furiously before tipping over.

Aeryn watched this action amazed. Being distracted for just one moment.

A Genlock took advantage of the situation and leapt out of the shadows at her. Snarling at her, but grinning quite viciously. She whipped her knife out and plunged it into the thing's head. It fell down onto its knees and she drove the blade home again before leaping back, hoping none of the blood got on her.

_But at least we aren't lacking for Darkspawn blood_.

Another yell, and even more Darkspawn poured out of the darkness upon them. She leapt again and her Key came up. More arrows split into the crowd scouring more and more of the foul creatures before her.

Malcolme growled as he rallied the last of his energies and the last of his defenses. He leapt into the group, slashing out and taking three of the enemy in one slash. But not pausing long enough to admire his handiwork as he stabbed into one Hurlock's eye socket then took another great swing, his sword coming in an uppercut arc from left to right, opening still another Darkspawn wide open.

A mage somewhere to her right put out his hand and lightning arched out of it, three Darkspawn fell, clutching at their bodies as their flesh sizzled.

Another inhuman yell, this time though it sounded defeated and uncertain. The Darkspawn were glancing around at the enemy before them, and slowly, started their retreat the way they came, from the Deep.

"Archers!" Malcolme yelled, waving his hand, chopping it towards the enemy.

Aeryn nocked her arrows. Each one flew through the air and perfectly scoured one of the warriors. Mages, the few of them that were left, sent bolts of fire, ice, and lighting after them.

The Architect even joined the fight spinning his hands around and casting blasts of arcane force.

Eventually, the retreat became a route.

Aeryn took deep, gasping, breaths, her chest heaves in sympathy with her, and sweat prickled at her eyebrow. The fight hadn't been that hard, but perhaps, just a little intense. And it was one of several fights they had experienced in the last couple of days. As they fled deeper into the Deep Roads. Their mission was starting to look desperate.

"I thought you said the Deep Roads would be clear by now!" One of the Wardens, a younger Warden, whirled around on the Architect.

His blade and shield were held at a threatening position, his chest was pumped out severely.

Malcolme got in his way before the Warden could advance and start a fight. _He would probably lose_, Aeryn thought. But Malcolme's gaze also swiveled around to glance at the Architect.

The Warden took the hint, coming up short, he breathed a sigh, and sheathed his weapon.

"He said the Deep Roads could be clear, he said that maybe he could influence the Darkspawn."

"There is a lot of uncertainty in that sentence Warden," Malcolme said, but again shot the Architect another look. "We did not think this mission would be easy."

"No," The Architect rumbled out behind the two, "we did not. But, I should have more of an influence, it could be…" The Architect blinked, "almost anything. But it is troubling. The Call is still so hard to understand between the Darkspwn, the Grey Wardens, and the Old Gods. As is the intelligence of the varying groups. I can speak, can they understand?"

"And the number of Darkspawn?" Malcolme asked.

The Architect looked up as if he was able to see the surface, "We are far under the Deep Roads, and we have crossed, probably, from Ferelden to Orlais. The Darkspawn here may have not been as effected the Blight and the resultant Civil War, or their numbers have simply had the chance to repopulate."

"So in other words we really do not know what we are facing down here?" Aeryn said.

The Architect glanced at her, then shook his head subtly.

"Greeeatttt." Aeryn said shifting her feet uncomfortably.

"Come on, it does not matter, we knew this mission would be tough. And we would likely be facing down a large contingent of Darkspawn all the way to the target."

"And we just hope that we don't start another Blight in the process." Another Warden muttered behind them.

Malcolme sighed, and looked around, "Get me the casualty figures."

Some of the Wardens, including Aeryn, scrambled to attention.

"They got Jacob, and Marx." One of the Warden's called out.

Malcolme shook his head sadly.

"And I think they got…yeah…Constantine is dead too."

_Three more casualties, three more dead._ Aeryn blanched, their casualties had been mounting ever since they went down there.

Since they started with a task force of over fifty, they had lost seven Wardens, four Dwarven warriors, one of the Silver Order, and ten of the Legion of the Dead who had joined them. And they had been down there for less than a week. Plus, they were going through supplies at an astonishing rate, everything except for food.

_Yes, we have been keeping our rations under control._ Aeryn thought grimly.

But the rest?

The medical supplies, the cleaning supplies, and the scores of arrows they brought with them. The supplies to fix dents or nicks in their armor, _or_ to sharpen their blade. All of these were being used to a frightening degree. The combat was quite heavy.

Malcolme sighed, "We make camp here, rest for an hour."

He turned to talk to the Legion of the Dead scouts who were huddled in one corner.

"Yes my lord?" One of them asked.

Malcolme smiled sheepishly at the Dwarf before him, "if you don't mind, we could really use to scout the road ahead, for a few miles if nothing else, then get back here and report in, and take a break, we'll be moving out soon thereafter."

The Dwarf nodded, then turned to his compatriots and shouted orders. Without a backwards glance they rushed further down the path the group were following for the last several days.

Aeryn found herself nibbling at some nug jerky a little while later. It tasted horrid, but she still took it in quite gratefully, not thinking that what she was doing was quite incredulous given how _cute_ the things were in their furry form.

_But man, am I hungry_.

So there overwhelming cuteness aside in real life, they still had to eat. And Malcolme was still insisting they at least kept their diet somewhat balanced.

But, the marching of footsteps and the sounding of clanking metal drew her attention, she looked over as the small group of Legionnaire Scouts returned. They drew Malcolme's attention and he went on over, ignoring his own meal.

Aeryn couldn't hear what they were saying. But the Dwarf looked tense.

"We've found something my lord, I think you should see it." The lead Dwarf said coming up to Malcolme.

Malcolme looked around, "Architect, Aeryn, Oghren…and Drew…you're with me."

Aeryn looked up still nibbling on her piece of meat, before wolfing it down in one last gulp and going for her Key and her quiver. She joined the group which had assembled.

The three Dwarven scouts led the group of humans, and the other Dwarf, along the path of the Deep Roads. They had traveled for little more than ten minutes when finally, inexorably, they ran into a cross roads.

But a weird sign was mounted off to the side. An old, rotting plank stuck in the middle of the ground with three decomposing Darkspawn heads mounted on it. A Genlock, a Hurlock, and a Shriek. On the plank was scrawled some writing across it.

"By the Beard of my ancestors!" Oghren hissed. "Is that what I think it is?"

"The deepest of the Deep Roads. Beyond this point no traveler has traveled. No member of the Legion. Not for centuries. Beyond this everything is inexorably lost to the Darkspawn. The great Dwarven Thaigs, and all the lost civilization. From this point forth is the Deep, in this direction"

Aeryn felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end, "whoa."

Malcolme nodded grimly, "It does not change anything though….though we might give the rest of the companions a small rest first. From this point forth, we are lost to the world."

"Well, hopefully we will return…one day." Aeryn said brightly.

Malcolme nodded, "Well, let's prepare."

He turned smartly on his feet and marched back to the camp. Aeryn stayed behind just for a few minutes before clutching her bow with determination, and joined Malcolme.

One more short rest, and that was it.

They would indeed become lost to the world.

_Into the Deep_.


End file.
